The Light at the End of the Tunnel
by LadyElla64
Summary: Sequel to "Before There Was a Light." Harry's birthday brings many surprises; a mysterious gift helps him get back what is his, and he discovers a bit more than he expected about his past. UNDER CONSTRUCTION!
1. Birthday Surprises

STORY IS UNDER CONSTRUCTION!

Author's Note: I am completely re-doing this story. I really, really need to. Reading it a couple weeks ago made me realize how badly this version sucked, and I feel ashamed that I've let it stay online, in this condition, for so long. Not much of the plot will change, but the writing definitely will. It sucks horribly and I'm exceedingly sorry that you've been put through the torture of reading it. Unless this is your first time encountering this story at all, in which case, you should consider yourself lucky.

I hope this first chapter of this new version is much more entertaining to read. Or at least more so than the previous one.

Dedications: Shout outs to people I love!

Holly McMasters: For convincing me that my writing doesn't totally suck.

Billy Grimes: For telling me that I write in a way he never could. (Even though he tries very hard! I love you, sweetheart!)

God: For without whom, I would not exist, and neither would you, the reader, so there would be no point in any of this at all.

You: For reading this crappy refurbishment of a story. I love you all. I really do.

Chapter One: Birthday Surprises

(Number Four, Privet Drive. July 31 1996. 1:32a.m.)

Harry Potter had been trying to get to sleep for the past three hours or so. He'd tried nearly everything; reading his new copy of a bi-monthly Quidditch magazine, putting his pillow over his head, listening to music, counting sheep (which never, ever worked, but he was desperate), slaughtering sheep in his mind as they jumped a fence, and so on. But as strange as this was to him, and as much as he had always dreaded not only the summer holidays, but his birthday as well, Harry found himself excited about his 16th. He had that feeling in his stomach that he usually only felt around Christmas time. The feeling that most every child gets on Christmas Eve, and the knowledge that something good is going to happen that day. It's the reason why small children have such a hard time sleeping the night before Christmas, and the reason that Harry couldn't get to sleep now.

He sat up, sweat rolling down his forehead and his chest, as he had burrowed under the blankets earlier that night in an attempt to drift off. He hastily shoved the covers off to find that his shirt, which was sticking to him, was drenched in sweat.

With a sigh he swung his legs over the side of the bed and hopped off, quietly tiptoeing across the room to his dresser to find another shirt. He tossed the soaked, grey T-shirt in a pile with his other laundry, which he really needed to get around to, and crawled back into bed. Not too long after he had laid back on his pillow and finally began to feel a little tired, three sharp taps on his window made him bolt up and snatch his wand off of the bedside table.

He held it out in front of him like a sword and edged nearer to the window, where he could definitely see some movement from. Something was hovering outside of it. It looked like a giant, furry ball with wings. Harry jumped back suddenly as it threw itself at the window. Then, part of it seemed to fall from the bottom and quickly re-attach itself. It was then that Harry realized that it wasn't a furry ball of wings outside of his window, but three owls clumped together. He unlocked the window and thrust it open, silently praying that the Dursleys didn't hear it and awaken, and the owls glided in, landing, along with three packages, with a plunk on his bed.

Hedwig and a tawny owl Harry didn't recognize were the only owls to stand up after their landing. The other was laying on its side, twitching and fluttering its wings, and trying to remove the package from its leg. Harry recognized him immediately as Errol, the Weasley family's owl. He obligingly removed the package and took him over to Hedwig's cage and let him sip the water from her bowl.

Hedwig walked up to the end of the bed with a letter clamped in her beak. She nudged him, and with a chuckle, Harry accepted it and ripped it open.

Dear Harry,

I hope your summer holidays are going well, and that you're not thinking too much about you-know-who. I'm on holiday in Germany right now, and I don't have much time to write to you, but I hope you like your present. Everything here is so different from home. We don't speak much of the language, but luckily we haven't had too much trouble yet. Happy Birthday, and I'll see you when school starts.

Love from,

Hermione

At this point, Harry wasn't sure if she meant Voldemort or Sirius when she said 'you-know-who.' And he wasn't dwelling on Sirius, or anything, if that's what she'd meant. Oh, of course he thought about him a few times a day, but he accepted that he was gone. Mostly. Or, at least gone for now. Part of Harry didn't quite believe that he was dead. That part of him considered him to be…on holiday, if you will. Not literally, but that was the general idea: Gone for a bit, soon to return. He hoped.

Ignoring all thoughts of his late Godfather, he picked up a small, brown package with his name on it written in a script that was clearly Hermione's. Harry ripped it open to reveal an assortment of his favorite candies such as Cauldron Cakes, Chocolate Frogs, and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. They were different from the ones he usually got from Honeydukes, as all of these candies were printed in German. Harry had always heard that German beer was sweeter and better than American and English beer, and he was hoping that it was the same case with the candies in Germany as well.

Next was Ron's letter:

Harry--

Happy Birthday! I'm sorry I can't get you anything this year, we're running a little low on money and I haven't got any spare saved up. Mum made you some pies instead. Hope you like them. I'll make up for it at Christmastime. See you soon,

Ron

Harry set the letter aside, not really minding that Ron didn't get him anything. He didn't need any more trinkets. When he saw the package from Ron, he could easily see how Errol had to be carried here; it was large and heavy. Probably full of the usual mince pies from Mrs. Weasley. One last letter and package remained, which Harry knew was Hagrid's the moment he laid eyes on the letter's untidy scrawl.

Harry

Happy Birthday! Hope your holiday's going well. I sent along some rock cakes on account of I know how much you enjoyed them last time.

Hagrid

Harry sighed as he let the letter drift down to his bed. Of course he knew that the gamekeeper had meant well by sending him the cakes, but Harry knew very well that Hagrid wasn't the best at cooking. He hoped that they'd be better this time--not so hard. Hermione and he had nearly broken their teeth on them when Hagrid had served them on one of their visits to his hut a year or so ago. Harry gathered up the food parcels and shoved them under his bed, in case his Aunt Petunia came routing through his bedroom. The tawny owl, seeing as its job was done, hooted in goodbye and soared off out the window and into the warm, breezy summer night.

Hedwig flew over to the table on which her cage was, eyed Errol, and turned to glare at Harry. She was not pleased. Harry gave her a strict look and she, still annoyed, took off out of the window too.

Even Hedwig's sour attitude couldn't ruin Harry's birthday. He climbed blissfully into bed and tucked himself in. He was asleep within minutes.

The next morning, Harry was exceedingly cheerful. Despite his lack of sleep, he was up at his usual time of nine a.m., and bounded down the staircase for breakfast. Dudley was already seated at the table when he got there, surrounded by all of his favorite breakfast foods. He was clearly taking a break from his mother's diet. Aunt Petunia was at the stove, where she could almost always be found at this time of morning, preparing everyone's breakfast. Harry took his seat, and not long after, Vernon ambled in from the living room and sat down as well.

At Harry's cheerful disposition, Vernon scowled and asked, "What're you so happy about, boy?"

"Don't you know what today is?" Harry questioned, frowning slightly and raising an eyebrow. Dudley and Vernon stared inquiringly at him, as Harry had never mentioned his birthday at all in the past, and hadn't seemed at all happy in previous years. This made Dudley and Vernon Dursley suspicious.

"Arbor Day? Today feels like a useless holiday," sneered Dudley. Vernon chuckled and continued poking at his fried egg, which Petunia had just placed in front of him.

"No, Dudley," said Harry, coldly, "today is my birthday. You know that."

Dudley didn't seem to be able to think up a snide remark to this, so he ignored his cousin and went back to eating.

"How old are you now?" asked Aunt Petunia, carrying both Harry's and her own plates over to the table and setting his rather harshly in front of him, causing the two sausage links to roll off, before taking a seat herself. "Eleven?"

"Sixteen, Aunt Petunia," said Harry, trying to hide his annoyance, and gathering up the sausage links. He dropped them down onto his plate with a light, meat-like clink and started on his eggs and toast.

Harry and the Dursleys' breakfast continued with little talk, besides that of the news, which Harry cared very little for these days. The Dursleys were also finally getting that summer home in Majorca they'd been wanting for the past few years. The only other comment Harry received was "Maybe we'll let you come along with us, if you're not dead by then," from his uncle.

Just as he was finishing his breakfast, Harry received a very big shock. An owl materialized with a loud POP! from near the open window above the sink and landed square in the middle of the table, unnerved by Vernon's yell of "BLOODY HELL, NOT MORE OWLS!" It dropped a small package with a letter tied to the top into Harry's slightly trembling hands and exited the same way it'd come.

Glancing at his uncle, Harry could plainly see the large, purple vein in his temple, and flinched slightly, as he was somewhat squeamish. Vernon wasn't happy.

"Don't you think that those owls can pop in here anytime they want, boy," he growled through clenched teeth, "as I've told you before, this house isn't a rest stop for OWLS! If one more owl flaps its wings near my breakfast again, I'll--"

SHWOOSH!

A second, grey owl flew into the kitchen with a yellow envelope clutched in its beak. It swooped over their heads, casting a shadow on the table, and dropped a letter into Harry's eggs. It, too, flew out of the open, lovely-curtained, window.

"OWLS! MORE SODDING OWLS! I'M CONTACTING THAT HEADMASTER OF YOURS AND HAVING HIM FIRED!"

Petunia bolted up and quickly shut the window, simultaneously draping the curtains together and flicking the lock shut. Harry just sat in place, package in one hand, fork in the other; he still hadn't fished the letter out of his eggs yet. Dudley, on the other hand, went back to his breakfast as if nothing had happened. He took another helping of bacon.

"You, boy, are OUT!" yelled Vernon. He stood up, his angry glare bearing down on Harry from above. Holding back a laugh, Harry noticed that his uncle looked rather like a bulldog when enraged. "I've had enough of your antics through the years and I'm not going to put up with them anymore! I've told you this once, I've told you a thousand times; I WILL NOT HAVE OWLS IN THIS HOUSE!"

"And I've told you this before as well," said Harry bravely, rising as well, "I can't stop the owls from coming! You can bolt your windows and cover your fireplace, but you can't stop mail from my world from coming!"

As Harry had grown taller during the past couple of years, Vernon's angry glare was on his level now, and frankly, Harry didn't care much for a purple-faced loon glaring at him. With a swift motion due, no doubt, to his Quidditch reflexes, Harry snatched his letter from his eggs and marched with his mail to the foot of the stairs.

"Where do you think you're going?" demanded the purple-faced loon.

"Up to my room," said Harry coldly. His whole body seemed to be shaking and his scar was pulsing like mad. It made his forehead throb and gave him a rather painful headache. Harry needed to get away from the Dursleys before Vernon got him so angry that he performed illegal magic. The last thing he needed was another run in with the Ministry of Magic. And so soon after his last one.

"Not until I'm through with you!"

"Well I'm through with you," said Harry waspishly, and began to walk up the staircase.

"BOY!" Vernon's yell shook the kitchen walls and Aunt Petunia's shelves full of knick-knacks wobbled threateningly.

Harry turned around, hand on the railing. He was losing his patience very quickly. Stepping down a few steps, he asked, feigning calmness, "And what could there possibly be that you still want to talk to me about."

"The owls!" Vernon yelled. "Those damn filthy owls poke their nasty beaks in my house EVERY day! _It-needs-to-stop_." He accented the words in the last sentence by pounding his fist on the table after each one to make his point. The table looked near cracking.

Harry took a deep, calming breath. "Haven't you figured out by now why the owls come this time every year? This--" he held up the letter from the last owl, "--is my school letter. It gives me my list of books to purchase. I need this letter. The other owls only come to my bedroom, so I don't see why they're such a bother to you. You don't even see them."

"And what do those owls need to come for, eh?" he crossed his arms over his round chest.

"None of your business."

"Don't get shirty with me, boy! You may be sixteen now, but I can still give you a good whacking over the head if I wanted to! And don't think I don't know about those owls from last night! I heard you. Letting them in at all hours of the day. Ridiculous. If you're doing something illegal, it won't be us who punish you, your SCHOOL will kick you out!"

"I'm not doing anything illegal," said Harry dully.

"Then why are you hiding things?" asked Petunia accusingly, who hadn't spoken in a while.

"Because it's none of your business," repeated Harry. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have mail."

"You come back here!" snarled Vernon, as Harry turned around. "You know, I should give you a good whacking more often. It would put you in your proper place." Dudley perked up at this. There was nothing he loved more than to see Harry getting punished. He fixed his piggy eyes on his cousin, avidly waiting.

"Try it," challenged Harry. "Just try it. Don't you remember anything Moody, Remus, and Tonks said at the train station? If you don't treat me well, they're coming after you!"

Vernon, who'd seemed to have forgotten the wizards' threats, stepped down rather quickly, and Dudley, disappointed, got up and sauntered to the living room. Aunt Petunia just stood there, throwing the occasional frightened glance at her husband.

"Fine. Go," he muttered. "And don't expect to come back down here for dinner. You won't be having any."

"Fine by me," said Harry hotly, and he stormed away to his bedroom. He shut and locked the door behind him, and he was silently glad of his punishment, as he had all the pies from Mrs. Weasley to choose from for his dinner. And they were far tastier, not to mention more nutritious, than anything the Dursleys would let him have. Even if they weren't angry.

Another thing Harry was glad for was how he'd maintained his temper. At first, he thought the walls shook because of his anger, and a great ball of fear welled up in his chest. He was quite relieved indeed to discover that it was his uncle's yells instead. Just last year, Harry had been charged with breaking the Statute of Secrecy when he used the Patronus Charm to fend off two dementors on an alley near Privet Drive. He'd just managed to save his cousin and himself before the Charm wore off and old Mrs. Figg, who turned out to be a member of the Order of the Phoenix, showed up. The Order was another thing he'd found out about last year. It was an organization created by Dumbledore back in the '80s to keep the Death Eaters in check. Harry's parents, Lily and James Potter, had been members, along with their friends Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew. But you could hardly call Peter a friend. He was the reason that his parents were dead.

Nearly fifteen years ago, Harry had lived with his parents in Godric's Hollow. They were a small, happy family. Or at least that's how it looked from the pictures in his photo album. The week preceding Lily and James's deaths was lived under the Fidelius Charm, which concealed them from all people but the secret-keeper, and the people whom the secret-keeper divulged the secret to.

The secret-keeper is where they ran into problems.

Sirius Black had been James's best friend. And when James needed someone to protect his family from Voldemort, he'd been the one James had turned to. Loyally, Sirius had accepted the position and the spell had been performed on him. He was Lily and James's protector.

But a few days went by and a brilliant idea struck Sirius. He went to James with it. He'd suggested switching the secret-keeper from himself to Peter Pettigrew, his reason being that Peter was small, insignificant, and weak. No one would ever suspect him to be carrying such an important secret. He, on the other hand, was well-known to be James's friend, and on Dumbledore's side. He would be the first one Voldemort would go after. So James, who had feared for Sirius's safety, agreed to the switch, and it was made.

Peter, though small and insignificant, turned the information over rather quickly. It turned out that he'd been working against Dumbledore and the Order the whole time. He told Voldemort where the Potters were hiding, and a week later, he showed up at their door and killed them both. James first, then Lily. After that, Voldemort went for Harry. Baby Harry. The little boy who would cause him so many problems. He raised his wand on the child and the death curse echoed into the night. But it rebound on the Dark Lord, and he was ripped from his body. Harry was left only with a scar on his forehead.

The Wizarding World rejoiced at the Dark Lord's death, and Harry became "the-Boy-Who-Lived." Although he was famous, he couldn't stay in his world. He was sent, by Dumbledore, to live with his mother's sister, Petunia, her husband, and their small son, Dudley, who was nearly the same age as Harry. And at the Dursleys Harry had remained. He couldn't exactly say that he'd had a bad life, but he hadn't had the best, either. Petunia, for some reason, had kept Harry, despite the frequent protests of her husband. Harry didn't know why, but had an idea that Dumbledore had something to do with it, due to a Howler she had received around this time last year.

And speaking of mail, Harry was eager to open his. The first thing he opened was the letter from Hogwarts. It wasn't as important, or at least that's what he thought, as the package so he was getting it over with. With a quick skim he noted that it said around the same thing as always, save for the ever-changing list of school books. Harry shoved the letter roughly back into the envelope and, in turn, stuck that into his robes, which were draped along the back of his desk chair. Now he could open his package. He struggled for a moment with the string holding the letter in place, but finally shoved it aside and took the letter. He slit it open and read:

Dear Mr. Potter,

First and foremost, I would like to wish you a happy birthday. It's not every day that one turns sixteen. Secondly, if you're curious about the package, you needn't contain yourself any longer. Enclosed is your birthday present from both myself and Mr. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. We feel that it would be best if you kept this. It was a prototype created in the Department of Mysteries. The down side was that they made it to be indestructible, and couldn't destroy it. It's far too dangerous to be mass produced as its predecessor was, and we know that you would put it to good use. But know this, Harry, it is a great responsibility to carry this object, and it MUST NOT FALL INTO THE WRONG HANDS.

Happy Holidays,

Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)

A prototype of what, wondered Harry. And it had previous versions. Well, it had to be something he'd seen before, he decided. He picked up the brown package and tore off the top. When he glanced down at its contents he saw a golden circle. He reached in and pulled it out. The golden circle turned out to be the top to an hourglass. It was about as long as his middle finger, and looked nearly identical to Hermione's time-turner, except slightly larger and much newer. It had a long, fine, golden chain, just like all of the other time-turners he'd seen both in the Department of Mysteries, and in his third year at Hogwarts when Hermione had used one to take her heavy schedule of classes.

Harry had a very hard time believing that this tiny, delicate-looking hourglass was indestructible. It looked as if one of Uncle Vernon's yells could finish it off. He dropped it to the ground. He had expected it to shatter, but all that was heard was a clunk as it came in contact with the floor. Harry, testing its strength, jumped on it. Still it didn't break. He bent down and picked it up, inspecting it carefully, as a scientist would do to one of his subjects. Not even a scratch.

What use did he have for a time-turner anyhow? And what was so special about this one? What more could it do? He certainly wasn't going to use it unless a few of his questions were answered. Which meant that he'd have to wait for school. And he definitely couldn't use it then. Harry sighed and tossed the time-turner into the pile of clothes near his dresser. He laid back on his bed and felt something crinkle beneath him. He sat up and realized that he'd laid down on Dumbledore's letter. Harry had been about to tear it in half, since he'd read the contents, when something caught his eye. There was another piece of paper in the envelope that he'd somehow missed.

In case you have any questions about the time-turner, I've enclosed a bit of information about it.

You may remember the time-turner that your friend Hermione Granger possessed during her third year at Hogwarts. And if you remember correctly, you would have remembered that it can take you back in time. This time-turner can do that as well. But it can take you back much, much further. As far as you want, as a matter of fact. It works in a way that is somewhat different from the original model, but still has the same basic concept.

If you wanted to go to the year 1981, for example, you would simply have to concentrate on that year. You would also need the time of year. We'll use October. And then an exact date. The thirtieth, perhaps. You might also want to pick a specific time of day, or else you'll end up arriving at midnight, the start of the day.

Harry tossed the letter aside and ran his fingers nervously through his hair.

'_This certainly clears things up a bit_.'

He hurried over to his laundry pile and fished out the time-turner. It was a bit damp on the surface, from touching last night's shirt, no doubt, but otherwise unharmed. He stuffed it in his pocket and began to pace around the room, a rather annoying nervous habit of his. He began to ponder Dumbledore's letters. Harry got the impression that he was hinting at something in his letters. But what could it possibly be? He tried to remember certain parts of the letters.

If you wanted to go to the year 1981, for example…

You would also need the time of year. We'll use October.

And then an exact date. The thirtieth, perhaps.

But it can take you back much, much further.

As far as **you** want…

you would put it to good use…

Harry stopped for a moment to consider all of these clues. Dumbledore was definitely trying to tell him something. Harry had unfortunately never been good at puzzles. Then it hit him--he could owl Hermione for help! She was the real brain of the group. Harry nearly ripped the desk drawer from the desk as he eagerly pulled it open, searching for parchment. He found an unused piece, picked his quill up, and dipped it in ink. But right as he was about to mark on the paper, a loud knock on his door made him jump, and the ink splattered all over the parchment. Silently cursing, he stood up from his desk and marched, annoyed, over to his door, flicked the lock and opened the door.

It was Aunt Petunia.

"You've just made me ruin a sheet of parchment," said Harry waspishly. "What is it?"

"I've come for your laundry," said his aunt, ignoring his complaint as usual, "since you seem to be incapable of doing it yourself." She peered over his shoulder. Harry left his position at the door and scooped up his laundry.

"Here you go," he said dully, dropping the clothes into her arms. He was about to shut the door when Petunia said, "What's that hanging out of your pocket?" Harry looked down. The chain of the hourglass was leaking out of his pocket.

"Just an old necklace," he said nonchalantly, trying to wrap up the conversation.

"Let me see it," she commanded, switching the laundry to one arm and holding out her hand expectantly. Harry dug his hand in his pocket and took out his time-turner, though he had no intention of handing it over to his aunt. He dangled it out in front of him and the gold glinted in the sunlight, causing both of them to squint. She reached for it, but Harry pulled it back so fast that her hand closed around air.

"I said, let me see it," she repeated, an annoyed and slightly angry tone replacing her former friendly one.

"Here," he held it out again, but somewhat out of her reach. "You've seen it." He pocked it again.

"Who gave it to you?" she pressed.

"My teacher. It's a school project," he lied quickly. He ran one hand through his hair nervously and kept the other in his pocket in case she tried to swipe his time-turner.

"That's a lie."

"Is not. It's a transfiguration project. I've got to turn it into a pincushion. It'll take a while, so I need some time alone," he tried to close the door, but she caught it with her foot.

"You're not allowed to use magic outside of school," she sneered. "How could that be a school project?"

"They're making an exception," he lied hurriedly, "It's summer work. New sixth years have summer work."

He must have sounded very convincing--or at least convincing enough for Petunia Dursley--because she took his laundry and left, but not before giving him a very suspicious look. He shut the door again and locked it. Now back to his letter. Harry walked over to his desk, but soon discovered that his parchment was now completely ruined. Apparently he'd upset the ink bottle when he stood up so roughly; the parchment was almost completely black. He picked it up from the blank corner and tossed it in the garbage. Aunt Petunia was going to have his head for the huge stain on the desk.

Great. Now how could he owl Hermione?

Knock. Knock.

Harry crossed the room and answered the door. It was Dudley. Without a word, he pushed the door wider and stepped into his former second bedroom, taking a good look around. Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

"What're you doing in here?"

"Mum said that you've got some glass necklace in here. Let me see it. It was a part of one of my Halloween costumes," said Dudley, his piggy eyes greedily searching the room.

"It is not yours," said Harry coldly. "I just got it today. And like I told your mum, it's a school project. Now go. I need to work on it."

"Give me the necklace, Harry," said Dudley, growing angry. "We don't want me to let it slip to daddy, do we? He wouldn't like that ickle Harry is stealing."

"And mummy wouldn't want her Diddums to bully his cousin," quipped Harry. Dudley reddened at his remark, but only grew angrier. Harry could sense this and took his wand out from his belt and held it between their faces.

"You will leave. Now."

Dudley didn't need to be told twice. One look at that wand always had him running. Ever since Hagrid had given him a pig's tail a few years back, after he'd eaten Harry's birthday cake. Not that Harry had minded too much; Hagrid wasn't the best cook. But it was always nice to see your cousin get picked on.

But something Dudley had said got him thinking. Halloween. That holiday led to two clues in Dumbledore's letter. Harry locked the door again and sat down on his school trunk.

October…The thirtieth…

Halloween was the thirty-first of October. One day after the one Dumbledore had mentioned. What did Halloween have to do with anything? He thought about the remaining clues:

If you wanted to go to the year 1981, for example…

But it can take you back much, much further.

As far as **you** want…

you would put it to good use…

"Halloween…1981...as far as I want…"

(Number Four, Privet Drive. August 1st 1996. 6:03a.m.)

"Mum! Dad!" Harry bolted awake. He'd sweat through another shirt. He pulled it off and tossed it where the old pile of clothes used to lay. Harry had just woken up from a very graphic dream. Never had he seen this far into the night his parents were killed. He usually only heard their voices and saw their blurred figures. But now they were vivid and bold, even now, and he saw more than just his mother running, babe-in-arms, into the next room. Harry saw everything. Things he thought he'd never have to see. Like his mother's life-less body, and his father, struggling to breathe.

"AAAARRGGGGHHHHH!" Harry cried out in pain, clutching his forehead. His scar felt like it was on fire. It hurt nearly as much as the Cruciatus Curse. The pain eventually lessened, but his head still throbbed.

This annoyed Harry, as he didn't like how Voldemort could cause pain to him without trying to. His scream probably woke up the Dursleys as well. He would have a hard time getting away with them awake.

Last night's dream had been the final step in his figuring out Dumbledore's clues. Harry knew what he'd been given the time-turner for. It wasn't to fix something _he'd _done wrong, it was to fix something that had been done wrong to him.

His dream had made it all clear. Of course he'd had a suspicion that the Professor was talking about the night his parents had died, but he didn't think that he actually wanted him to save his parents. He was thinking more along the lines of saving Sirius. But of course Dumbledore wouldn't change the future that drastically just to make Harry happy. No matter how much favoritism he showed him.

Since he was still wearing the same shorts, Harry pulled the time-turner out of his pocket and strung it around his neck. He thought of things he'd need for his trip to save his parents. A wand, definitely. But were there any items from the future that would help him? He had knowledge of his parents' predicament that would help, that was for sure. And judging by his previous encounters with Lord Voldemort, this wouldn't be the most difficult job in the world, especially since he had 15 years more knowledge of the Wizarding World than anyone in that time period.

'_Thank God the Dursleys are still asleep. Or haven't come up here. The last thing I need is one of them poking round my room_.'

Could he just…leave? Just like that? He tried to imagine leaving a letter to his aunt and uncle.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon,

I've gone back in time to save my parents from Voldemort. Please keep my dinner warm.

Harry

It sounded stupid even in his head. He grabbed his robes from his desk chair and threw them on, as he would be going to an all-Wizard community. He snatched his glasses from his bedside table and stuck them on his face, and then proceeded to his trunk to retrieve the invisibility cloak his father left for him. He stuffed it in his pocket. The light weight around his neck told him that the time-turner was still safely in place.

'_Now what were those instructions?_'

He picked up the letter from his desk and glanced at it again.

'_Ah…I have to concentrate on where I want to go_. _But on what? The scenery? I have no idea what my parents' house looked like. Or is it the date?'_

According to the letter, time travel had nothing to do with the scenery. It was the date that he needed.

'_They were killed on Halloween. The thirty-first of October. 1981_.'

Harry closed his eyes and tried to picture the events in his dream. It had been dark outside. Quite dark, in fact. And the clock had said 11:56 right before James sent Lily away. Harry's eyes shot open. James had just sent her away. No hug, no "I love you," no nothing. Last year, when Harry had seen Snape's Memory, he had assumed that his parents weren't in love, but that was sort of the final straw. He'd have to look more into this when he got there.

"October thirty-first, 1981. Godric's Hollow…11:00p.m…October thirty-first, 1981. Godric's Hollow…11:00p.m…"

Yes, it is a bit different from the original first chapter, but I like this one much better. I'm going to try and update every week or so. (I'm never good with updates, that's why most of this story is so short--that's another thing I'm fixing. Noticed?)

Anywho…review! I want to hear your opinions on the renovations!

Megan


	2. Meeting the Parents

****

Author's Note: Chapter 2 is here already! It makes me feel all light and fluffy like pancake batter as I type. (Haha, Wendy.) I'm very excited about this new version. I doubt you're as excited as me, though. Heh. And I'm sure that all of you--or at least Kitty--want me to stop my Author's rant and write. So I shall.

****

Dedications: Shout outs to more people!

Samantha Ginsburg: Because you wanted a dedication, and I suppose you deserve one. You faithful reader, you.

Cassandra Benson-Abrams: For helping me with my stories in the past, and being a character in this one. glomp

Quinny Porter: I know you'll feel left out without one.

Ayame: For being my first reader of the new version. Love ya!

****

Chapter Two: Meeting the Parents

(Traveling Through Time. August 1st 1996. Somewhere around 6:33a.m.)

Time traveling had to be one of the weirdest feelings Harry had ever experienced. And that includes the time he ate the Gillyweed, lost all the bones in his right arm, and that cold, drippy, tingly feeling that travels down your spine during the casting of a Disillusionment Charm.

This feeling was a bit different. It was more windy than drippy, cold, or wet. And he had that feeling in his stomach that one usually gets during a rollercoaster ride. Thank goodness he'd left without breakfast, or he might have lost it during his journey. Harry felt like he was sitting on a merry-go-round that had been spun _way _too fast. He shut his eyes against both the breeze and the motion. While it helped the breeze a bit--besides the fact that he had to hold onto his glasses for dear life--it didn't do much for the motion. It only made him feel sicker. He hoped he got there shortly.

__

'Oh God…the landing.'

Harry shut his eyes tighter as it got windier and windier. He knew that any minute he'd be in his parents' time, and began to brace himself for an extremely rough landing. The problem was, he didn't know how he was going to land, so picking a good landing technique would be rather difficult. He settled with putting his hands out in front of him to ease his fall.

Good thing, too. That's exactly what he needed. Or else he would have smashed up his face.

__

Clink. Clank. Cliiiiiink.

Harry's glasses skittered across the road--or at least he thought it was a road--where he had landed. He stood up and checked his belt for his wand. Still there. Unsnapped. Brilliant. Now to find his glasses. He stepped blindly forward, hands out in front of him in case he should trip. Everything was blurry. He couldn't barely make out the road, just a long, black, tar path in front of him. He didn't know how he'd find his glasses.

But then he remembered something. He was in the '80s. Voldemort and his Death Eaters were running rampant. They cast spells every day and weren't being tracked down by the Ministry. If Harry cast _one_ little summoning spell, he doubted they'd do anything about it, much less add to his record. He then realized that he didn't _have_ a record back in the '80s.

__

'I really need to stop beating myself up over one little hearing,' he chided himself.

"_Accio glasses!_" he called out, whipping his wand from his belt. He held out his hand expectantly and his glasses glided into it. He put them back on and looked around at his surroundings.

He was standing in the middle of a street. There were a fair amount of trees in this neighborhood, and most were decorated in the spirit of Halloween with little ghosts and streamers and lights hanging from them. The houses were all nearly the same size; two story with big yards and a Tudor décor. They, too, were decorated in the sprit of Halloween; nearly each house had a jack-o-lantern on its stoop, and various other knick-knacks garnishing their front lawns. The wooden street sign at the end of the road told him that he was on Tinker Lane and that the street lying perpendicular to Tinker was Frenchert Lane.

He groaned. His parents could be on any street in Godric's Hollow. What if he didn't find them in time? He didn't think that he could go through seeing them die again. Especially not in person. And then what if Death Eaters ended up coming after him? He did, after all, look a lot like James. What if some of the Death Eaters didn't know about the Potters' demise, and suspected he, Harry, to be his father. If he was killed here, that would be it. He'd be erased from the face of the Earth, and the future would be screwed up too.

As for his parents' address, Harry was almost certain he had heard it before. Or had seen it before. And the street wasn't called Tinker or Frenchert Lane either. Perhaps his memory just needed to be refreshed.

__

'I'll walk around for a bit and read the street signs. How big can Godric's Hollow be?'

(Godric's Hollow. October 31st 1981. 11:27 p.m.)

And as usual, Harry was indeed, quite wrong. Godric's Hollow was an enormous community. Much bigger than the area he lived in back in 1996. For twenty-seven minutes, according to his watch, he had been wandering around searching the streets for any clue to where his parents might live. Of course he wouldn't be able to see the house, as it was under the Fidelius Charm and wouldn't be visible to him.

__

Wait…

His parents' house was under the Fidelius Charm…he'd need directions from the secret-keeper…Peter…who was…no where…around…

"DAMNIT!" He yelled out in frustration, slamming his wand to the ground. He sank to the ground, sitting in Indian-style, and rested his head in his hands.

__

'All this for nothing. Why did Dumbledore bother explaining everything to me, or even give me the time-turner at all, if he didn't give me some kind of slip written by Peter with the address? I mean, he's DUMBLEDORE, for chrissakes! It wouldn't be that hard!'

__

Rustle. Rustle.

Something was moving around in the bushes. Harry turned around. He could see two shadowy figures across the street, diagonal from him, moving through the bushes. One was tall and thin, and had a long, black cloak wrapped around his shoulders. The other was short and fat, but also had a black cloak on. They were Voldemort and Peter Pettigrew. And quite frankly, Harry had a hard time believing that was Voldemort, as he looked human. But then he remembered that tonight was the night of the event which disfigured him, so of course he would bear a normal appearance.

"This had better be the right place, Peter," threatened Voldemort in his usual, cold way, "you've had far too many mishaps in the past, and I'm afraid that this is your last chance to redeem yourself. Lucius Malfoy nearly lost his life because of you. Mixing up those potions, I ask you. Do you have any idea how valuable Lucius is to me? Any idea at all?"

"Y-yes, Master," stuttered Peter as they walked along. They were getting quite close to Harry, who took the opportunity to slip under his invisibility cloak while Voldemort checked behind him for anyone following them. "Of c-course I know. He's your right hand man, after all."

"Indeed," commented the Dark Lord distractedly. "I wonder what the locals would do if they knew that I was here. Lose in the middle of the night in Godric's Hollow. The biggest all-Wizarding community in the world. The _Daily Prophet_ would have a field day."

Peter noticed the mischievous glint in his Master's eye and trembled slightly. "You're not going to do anything…rash…are you, Master?"

"Rash?" echoed the Dark Lord, turning to face Peter once more, "I never do anything rash, as you call it. I merely have fun."

Peter nodded shakily, although he could hardly call the slaughtering of innocent people, not to mention his friends, whom they were going after at this very moment, fun. But he wanted the power. No, he needed the power. Back in school, everyone had always looked up to James and Sirius. Everything was about them. Why not him? Even Remus got more attention than him, and all he did was study. Peter had tried to be like James and Sirius in hopes that some of their talent might rub off on him, but it had never worked. James never seemed to mind all the attention that Peter showed him, but Sirius could see right through him and snapped at him every time. But now we'll see who holds the power.

"So what's the address again?" asked Voldemort. Now they'd reached where Harry had been standing and he began to follow them, silently creeping along beneath the safety of his invisibility cloak.

"F-fourteen fifty-seven Maple Oak Lane," stuttered Peter. "It's a few blocks over."

Voldemort nodded, but other wise ignored him. Harry, however, needed a way to get to his parents' house. He'd heard the exact address from the secret-keeper himself, so now all he needed was to beat Voldemort to his parents.

He didn't have his broom with him, and it was too noisy anyway, so that was out of the question. But perhaps something else…it was illegal, but enough illegal magic was going to be performed--but not if Harry could stop it--tonight anyway, so he didn't think that one extra spell would have _too_ much of an effect. He was going to make a Portkey. How hard could they be? He had, after all, seen them be made a few times, and knew the incantation. He reached into his robe pocket, desperately searching for anything he could cast the incantation on. He was in luck. He had a Chocolate Frog in his pocket. It must have fallen out of the box Hermione had sent him. Good thing, too.

How can I direct it to my parents' address, he wondered. He remembered that before Fudge made that Portkey back from the Ministry, he had mentioned Hogwarts. Perhaps Harry had to say the address before casting the spell.

"Fourteen fifty-seven Maple Oak Lane," whispered Harry. He said it low in case Voldemort had extremely good hearing. They were only at the end of the street, after all. "_Portus!_"

Since he was already holding the Chocolate Frog, the Portkey spell took affect immediately. He felt the familiar sensation of a tug on his navel, and he jutted forward into the night.

(Maple Oak Lane. October 31st 1981. 11:33 p.m.)

For the second time that night, Harry was thrown onto the cold pavement. And for the second time that night, his glasses fell off during the impact, and he fetched them with a Summoning Spell for the second time as well.

He picked up the Invisibility Cloak from the ground, as it too had fallen off during the impact, and slung it over his shoulders in case Voldemort and Peter were quicker walkers than he imagined. Although it seemed like he was nearly a mile ahead of them, so he didn't worry too much.

But all of that aside. He had to find his parents' house. The mailbox in front of him read "1475" and the one to its right read "1477." So Harry took off to the left, watching the numbers on the mailboxes descend as he ran.

Finally he got to "1459" and stopped running. To its left read "1455." Lily and James's house was somewhere in the middle of these two houses. He shut his eyes and tried to imagine the exact moment when he'd heard Peter reveal the address to his Master. He could see everything up to the exact lighting in the street. He imagined Peter's high-pitched, nervous voice as he said, "F-fourteen fifty-seven Maple Oak Lane."

Right as Peter--the Peter Harry'd imagined--said the address, a door with a grinning pumpkin face popped out of nowhere from between numbers fourteen fifty-nine and fourteen fifty-five, followed by its walls and windows. Just as it was when he'd been to Grimmauld Place with the Advance Guard, it seemed that the houses on either side didn't feel a thing as the middle one popped into place. It was a lovely house and looked almost exactly as he had imagined it. Two stories, like most of the others in Godric's Hollow, with a Tudor style décor, and lovely Dutch-type windows with adorable curtains--most likely courtesy of Lily--hanging on the inside. There was also a small garden under the window, which Harry noticed as he made his way up the walk to the front door.

He raised his hand to knock, but quickly withdrew it. What would he say to them? That he's their son from the future and he's here to take them back with him?

It would have to do.

__

Knock. Knock.

Nervous muttering came from inside. Harry could barely make any of it out, but he thought he heard, "James! What was that?" from his mother.

"I don't know, Lily," he said back, sounding equally concerned. "I think someone's knocking."

Harry knocked again, just to let them know that he was, in fact, there.

"There it was again, James!" fretted Lily. "Give me the baby! We need to go!"

"It's probably Dumbledore or something," said James. "Stop worrying."

The doorknob twisted and the door swung open. Harry was face-to-face with his father. They just stared at each other for a moment. Lily was standing behind her husband, holding baby Harry in her arms.

"Who are you?" said James bluntly, staring curiously at Harry. Lily was gaping at him from her position behind James. Baby Harry was just trying to burrow into her shirt.

"There's no time for that," said Harry, stepping slightly forward. James stepped back. "Voldemort is on his way. Peter's with him. We need to go!" Harry stepped inside the house and James shut the door. His parents turned to face him.

"Go where?" asked Lily, clutching baby Harry a little closer.

"We have to go back to my time," said Harry. "Hurry, they're on the way. We need to go." He gave them anxious looks

"Your time?" echoed his father. "And when is that?"

"1996. But we have to go!"

"Who ARE you?" questioned Lily impatiently. "Are you related to James? You sure look like him."

"I guess you could say that," shrugged Harry.

"What do you mean?"

Harry sighed. "Alright. That baby you're holding"--he pointed at him--"is me. I'm your son. I've come to save you."

James raised an eyebrow. "Save us from what?"

"Voldemort!" cried Harry, exasperated. "Now we have to go!"

"How?" asked Lily. As much as he loved them, his parents were annoying him with all of these questions.

"I have a time-turner," said Harry, gesturing to the small hourglass around his neck. "But it's different than the ones you're used to. He'll be here soon. We have to be gone before he arrives."

"But what did he do to us?" asked Lily. "Are we…dead?"

"You will be in twenty minutes!" said Harry, surprising himself on not growing weepy for once. "See this scar?" He touched it. "This is from him! He tried to kill me once he finished with you two." Lily clutched her baby closer. "But he couldn't. And his curse came back at him and nearly killed him. It only left a mark on me."

Lily and James grew silent. "We can't leave just yet, though," said his father.

"Why not? Do you want to be killed?"

"Of course not," he said waspishly, "but I think I know how we can pull this off."

"Pull WHAT off?"

"Well," James had a mischievous glint in his eyes, one Harry assumed was similar to his school days, "I've got a plan. You know the shielding spell, right, Harry?"

"Yeah," he answered, still confused.

"That's all we'll need."

(Fourteen fifty-seven Maple Oak Lane. October 31st 1981. 11:44 p.m.)

Their plan was set. And Harry had to admit that his dad was pretty good with short notice plans. Heck, plans in general. Harry had never really had the passion for pranks as his dad had, nor did he think everything through before acting, and would never have thought that leaving like this would affect the future.

The shielding charm that James had mentioned was a very powerful one. It was the same one that protected Voldemort's shield. The shield he'd used to block Dumbledore's killing spells at the Ministry. It could also be used on humans, and that was their plan. It was completely invisible and couldn't be detected by any spells or charms. That was why it was ideal.

Harry had cast the spell on both of his parents--since you couldn't cast it upon yourself--and James, in turn, had cast it upon Harry. After much coaxing from both her husband and her son, Lily handed baby Harry over to older Harry and he took him upstairs.

"Shh," said Harry when his younger self began to whine. "I'm going to put you in your crib."

And that he did.

"_Protego Extramus!_" A thin, green ray of light erupted from the end of his wand and surrounded the crib completely. Baby Harry stood up, his little hands on the railing of the crib, and he looked at his older self with big, watery eyes.

"Mummy!" he wailed. "Mummy!"

Harry felt bad for the baby, and picked him up to comfort him. He kissed his forehead. "Mummy's downstairs. She'll see you in a few minutes. Be good." He unwrapped and handed him the Chocolate Frog. Baby Harry took it happily and laid back down, munching on his treat.

The older Harry walked out of the room and gave his parents the signal, which was a wave of his wand. Gold and red sparkles shot out of it. He had to be more careful. He did, after all, have to wait in the closet in the upstairs bedroom while Voldemort was there. Harry had to protect his younger self from actual death. He needed the scar, which the barrier would provide without Lily's sacrifice, as it absorbed nearly all of the spell, and its remnants would be enough to leave a lasting mark on the child. And what didn't leave the mark would bounce back at Voldemort, ensuring his near-death experience.

Harry got into the closet in baby Harry's room and shut the door nearly all the way. He left a crack of it open so he could watch.

(Downstairs. Fourteen fifty-seven Maple Oak Lane. October 31st 1981. 11:56 p.m.)

"I'm scared, James," said Lily, snuggling up to him on the couch. "I want my baby. What if he gets hurt?"

James kissed her cheek. "Just do what Harry and I told you. In a half hour, you'll be glad you did. We'll be safe and so will the baby. Don't move a muscle after he--"

__

BOOM!

Lily whimpered. James shushed her. Voldemort was outside their door. After the dust cleared from his first blow, James could see that the front door had a very large crack in it from where the wood had split.

"Go, Lily," he hissed, "it looks too suspicious with both of us here."

"No!" he could see tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm not leaving you!"

"Honey, I'll be fine. That's why we have the shielding spells."

__

BOOM!

This time, the door gave way. They could clearly see Voldemort, tall, thin, and menacing, in their doorway. Peter had been made to wait out near the mailbox, in case anyone came along.

"Finally I've caught you two," said Voldemort, wand out in front of him. He was edging slowly towards the Potters. "Where's your son?"

"He's not here!" yelled Lily.

"Lying woman!" said the Dark Lord. "I'll have to teach your wife a lesson, James." He raised his wand.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!_" Lily waited for the blow to hit her. Her shield nearly completely absorbed it, except for one part. When it hit her, her robes ripped right at the…er…top. And she sank to the ground, looking quite convincing. Even James was fooled for a moment, forcing a genuine look of sadness, love, and anger at her murderer, onto his face. He turned to face his rival, anger in his eyes.

"I'll kill you," said James darkly, stepping forward. He raised his wand, but Voldemort beat him to it and shouted out the deadly incantation. James experienced the same feeling that Lily had, except it didn't matter that his robes had ripped up there.

Voldemort seemed convinced, however, and stepped over to the staircase without a second glance. "Now for their brat," he muttered before ascending.

Harry, the older one, had been sitting in the closet on top of a box big enough to hold a stroller (which, he reminded himself, it probably did) for about ten minutes now. His back was cramping and he was tired.

__

'Hurry up you barmy git.'

No sooner had Harry thought that, Voldemort burst into the room, wand at the ready. He walked over to the baby's crib and stared down at him.

"You've caused me a lot of trouble, little boy," said Voldemort. "And now it's time to end it! _AVADA KEDAVRA!_"

What happened next scared Harry so badly that he jumped in surprise and smacked against the door. It opened about a foot wider, and Harry sank further back into the closet. Someone in the room was screaming so loudly that Harry was sure it would render him deaf. Thank God it subsided quickly. A whoosh was heard and a strong breeze raced through the room, upsetting many stuffed animals and the curtains. Harry stepped out of the closet. The room was empty of Voldemort. Their plan had worked. The window was open, making the room even chillier with the October breeze. He shut it and peered into the crib.

Baby Harry was squirming around and whining. His forehead was a little bloody in the spot where the older Harry's scar laid, but otherwise he was unharmed. The baby sat up and flailed his arms. "Daddy!"

Despite the fact that Harry wasn't "daddy" he picked him up and started down the stairs. Lily and James were laying on the living room floor, and both were a little bloody in the chest area, which, in his mother's case, was a very bad thing.

"Mum! Dad! You can get up now!"

Slowly, his parents sat up. "Lily, are you alright?" asked James concernedly when he spotted her cut. Lily looked down at her robes.

"Yeah, I'm fine. He missed."

"Good. Even though I don't think you'll have to feed the baby anymore," said James.

"And why not?" she asked, standing up. James followed suit.

"Because…we're leaving."

"No we're not!" said Lily, growing teary again. "I'm not going to leave my time period. I'm very happy here, and I'm not leaving my baby!" She took him from Harry's arms.

James and Harry exchanged worried glances. "Actually, mum," he said, "you do have to go. All three of us are going."

"You can't make me go, Harry!" she said defensively. "I'm staying right here." She crossed her arms around baby Harry stubbornly and sat down on the couch.

"I've saved you," said Harry, "you can't stay. The future will be changed. You have to come! It was either die, or come with me! You've chosen the latter! Now come on!"

"Wh-what?" she said softly, uncrossing her arms, one still supporting baby Harry, who was, once again, trying to burrow under her shirt, and looked up at her husband and son in turn. Back and forth. "But--"

James sat down next to her. "Please come, Lily. Don't make this harder."

She didn't speak, but she nodded and stood up, fitting baby Harry comfortably into her arms. "Let's go then."

"Er...Lily? Sweetie? You…have to…" he trailed off.

"Have to what, love?" she cuddled baby Harry.

"You have to leave the baby here."

"What?! Never!" She was wide-eyed and frightened looking. She backed away from James and Harry, as she knew they were on the same side.

"Mum, you'll disrupt the time continuum. Can't you make this easier on us? You'll still have me. I am the baby! You won't lose me!" Lily considered this for a moment and stepped forward.

"But why do I have to leave him here?" she whined. "No one will notice if we take him!"

Harry groaned and slapped his forehead. "They WILL notice, because I need to have my life before the Dursleys and everything. We're trying to keep the future the same. If you two come with me, and Hagrid comes to get the baby me in about"--he checked his watch--"ten minutes, everyone will think you're dead, and the rest of our plan will fall into place."

"I have to…leave my baby?"

"Yes, Lily."

"Why, again?"

"LILY!"

She sighed. "Alright." She wrapped him in a blanket that had been laying on the couch, kissed his forehead, and then turned around and buried her face into James's robes.

"Can we go now?" she whispered tearfully. "I…I just want to go."

Without a word, Harry took off the time-turner and strung it around his parents' and his neck. The only sounds that could be heard before they left were the sounds of sirens in the distance, Lily's cries, and baby Harry saying, "Mummy! Mummy!"

And then they were gone.

Gah. I feel so bad for Lily. I wouldn't want to leave my baby either. Anywho, I hope you liked the chappie, and please review!

A big **THANK YOU!** to my reviewer!

Piper of Locksley--Get off, lezzy! No kisses! Pleh. Anyway, I'm glad you liked the first chappie! Review this one!

Megan


	3. Petunia's Rant and Godric's Hollow

**Author's Note:** Yippee! I'm really getting into this story again. And I've just finished emailing all of my old, wonderful (I love you guys!) reviewers. It's so fun to be doing this again, especially since I rather liked my plot, but didn't quite feel that the writing was good enough. I hope you guys are enjoying the frequent updates, because when school starts up again, they won't be so frequent. But you have a little over a month before my school starts, and my goal for the summer is chapter 10, or so. 'Cept I will be taking a vacation for a week, and sadly won't be able to get any more done until I get back. So this will be the last one you get until then. But hopefully their longer length with sustain you.  
  
**Dedications:** Yes, there're more.  
  
All of my friends: Because they put up with me every day. Well, almost every day.  
  
You, once again: For returning to this page. I love you very much. I might start stalking you with roses and chocolates. See that face in the window? Yep. 'Tis mine.  
  
**Chapter Three:** Petunia's Shock and the Return to Godric's Hollow  
  
(In Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's front lawn. Number four, Privet Drive. August 1st 1996. 7:06 a.m.)  
  
Once consolation of time-traveling with Lily and James, Harry discovered, was that he managed to keep his balance this time, due to James's support of both Lily and his son. He'd had his eyes squinted tightly shut, anticipating the fall, and was surprised, although not ungrateful, when it didn't come.  
  
"You two alright?" asked James, looking them both over. Harry nodded and brushed him self off and straightened his robes. Lily, her face tear- stained, shook her head and buried her face deeper into James's robes.  
  
"What's wrong?" he whispered into her hair, as he was cuddling her. She mumbled something, but all James could make out were some squeaky noises and sniffles. He lifted her head by her chin. She looked up at him. Her eyes were puffy, red, and semi-bloodshot, and her cheeks had tear streaks, both wet and dry, running down them. James kissed her forehead.  
  
"Now tell me, without hiding your face or mumbling, why you're so upset," said James softly and patiently.  
  
Lily gaped at him incredulously. "Why am I upset?" she echoed. "Why am I upset?! I'll tell you why! Because he"--she pointed at Harry--"showed up and messed up my life! Everything I had, besides you, James. My baby is gone, I can't go back to my house ever again, and I'm 16 years into the future! Some new life!"  
  
James, although he did understand where she was coming from, gave her one of the worst looks in the world. It read something like, "How in hell can you be so selfish?!"  
  
"Lily, how in hell can you be so selfish?" he said, "Harry was helping us by bringing us here! Would you rather be dead?" Harry felt a rushing pride for his dad and tried to hold back a grin. "And you do still have your baby! He's just grown up!"  
  
Lily looked over at Harry, who was still rather hurt that his mother, whom he thought loved him, had said such a hurtful thing. But he did take into consideration that she was in distress right now, and having to adjust to a new situation, which probably hadn't hit her yet. Her lower lip trembled slightly and she sank to the ground, where she proceeded to bury her face in her own robes and cry. James and Harry looked at one another and James shrugged. Harry, though, leaned down to sit next to Lily.  
  
"Mum?" he asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, "are you...okay?" She shook her head. "You wanna tell me why you're crying?" She shook her head again. He poked her. "Mum." She kept on sniffling. He poked her again. "Mum!"  
  
"What?" she moaned, lifting her head. Her eyes were becoming more bloodshot by the minute. She'd need a trip to the ladies' room, not that there was one in the middle of Privet Drive, to clean up.  
  
Harry softened his annoyed look. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"  
  
"B-because I f-feel bad," she sniffled.  
  
"About what?"  
  
"S-saying that t-to you."  
  
Harry hugged her. "Don't worry about it. I know you didn't mean it."  
  
Lily smiled at him and pulled him close. "I do love you, Harry. I'm sorry."  
  
She looked down at the boy in her arms. He was nearly the same size as James. And looked almost exactly the same, too. Except, of course, for Lily's eyes, as had been on his baby version. The only other differences between Harry and his father were minor ones, such as the length of his nose, the scar, of course, and whether or not his hands were Lily's or James's.  
  
"This is going to take some getting used to," she commented, looking from James to Harry. James nodded in agreement. He held out a hand for each of them, which they accepted, and he pulled them to their feet.  
  
"So, er, where are we, Harry?" questioned Lily uncertainly.  
  
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Do you really want to know?"  
  
"Well, yes," she said, sounding rather like Hermione, "that's why I asked." James gave Harry an odd look. He seemed to be confirming that they were somewhere that Lily wouldn't want to be. Harry tried to signal a 'yes' back to him.  
  
"Oh, it's a surprise, Mum," said Harry evadingly. "Let's go inside."  
  
Lily eyed him suspiciously, but followed him up the walk anyhow, James by her side. She gave him a questioning look to which he responded with a convincing shrug. When they reached the front door, Harry gave them the 'shush!' signal with his fingers, and mimed unlocking the door with his wand, and the shrugged his shoulders to indicate that he couldn't do it. Well, he could do it, just not here. He definitely didn't need another mark on his criminal record.  
  
"Why are you miming?" whispered James. "And why are we being quiet?"  
  
"Because the people inside are asleep," Harry whispered back, "we have to sneak inside without waking them. They shouldn't be up for another hour or so."  
  
"What kind of place is this you live in, Harry," whispered Lily, as James took out his wand in preparation to unlock the door, "where you have to sneak back in? Don't you have a house key?"  
  
Harry snorted. "Yeah, right," he whispered, "they'll give me a house key when Mick Jagger's gob shrinks."  
  
Lily had to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop from laughing out loud.  
  
"Alohamora!" hissed James, and a soft click! ensued. Harry peered through the rippley, glass window on the door. No sign of movement. He clasped onto the handle and carefully twisted the door open, making sure that its squeaky hinges didn't make any noise. Harry motioned for them to follow him. James and Lily stepped inside and Lily shut the door behind them.  
  
"Up here!" he whispered, gesturing to the stairs. He tiptoed up, his parents right behind him, trying to minimize the squeaks of the stairs as they ascended.  
  
After what seemed like hours, they reached the top of the stairs and crept down the hall to Harry's bedroom, which, he remembered, was still locked.  
  
"Dad," he whispered, "I need you to unlock this door, too."  
  
James nodded and unlocked it. Harry opened the door and looked around his room. It was the same as he had left it over an hour ago. It was hard to believe that it had only been an hour since he'd woken up from his dream and saved his parents. He looked at them and smiled. He was the happiest person on the face of the Earth.  
  
"Harry, is this your room?" asked Lily, who waited about a half-second before saying, "Of course it must be. It's a mess. Just how your father used to keep his." James's ears went red.  
  
It was true, though; Harry's bedroom was a mess. You could barely see the floor save for the bare spot where the clothes Aunt Petunia had taken to wash had been. His desk was littered with quills, ink, and other desk-like items. The bed was unmade and the sheets were in need of a good washing. His trunk was still open from when he'd rummaged through it for his Invisibility Cloak, and some of its contents had spilled out such as books, parchment--which he was running low on--and his small collection of Weasley sweaters. He was rather fond of them, really.  
  
Lily gave him a look. "I hope whoever you live with doesn't see this. As your mother, I would have given you a good swat on the head for this pigsty."  
  
Harry glared at her. "I like it. It's...me."  
  
"Then you better stop being so messy."  
  
"Oh, leave the boy alone, Lils," implored James. "I like his room, too."  
  
Lily swatted him on the head. "Don't encourage him." Harry walked into his bedroom, followed by Lily, who was followed, in turn, by James. He was making faces behind her back coupled with selected rude gestures. Harry grinned at his dad.  
  
"What's so funny?" asked Lily. She turned around. James smiled innocently at her. Rolling her eyes, she went to help Harry pack his things.  
  
He didn't have many options for carrying his possessions. Just a beat-up old backpack and an equally weary suitcase. Harry lugged the suitcase out of the closet and Lily grabbed the backpack from under his desk. James just stood by the bed, looking around the room.  
  
"So where do you want all of this?" asked Lily, gesturing to a pile of schoolbooks and rolls of parchment with a sweeping hand motion. Harry shrugged.  
  
"Anywhere it'll fit. Just don't scrunch the essays."  
  
Harry, Lily, and occasionally James (when he wasn't ogling Harry's Firebolt), spent the better part of the next hour packing Harry's things and straightening up the cramped old bedroom. Harry didn't like it to be so clean. It felt like being in the rest of the house, which was, thanks to Aunt Petunia, surgically clean. And Harry didn't like the rest of the house. He liked his bedroom. And he liked it messy. Lily, on the other hand, smiled proudly at her work when they were through and casually brushed off her hands and her clothes.  
  
"See, Harry," she said, looking at him, "this"--she gestured to the tidy room--"is how a bedroom should look. And it's how your bedroom will look once you live with us."  
  
Harry cast a beseeching glance towards James, who gave his a dubious look and shook his head. 'Yeah, right,' he mouthed. Lily turned around and glared at him.  
  
"What did you say?" she demanded. James grew sheepish under his wife's piercing stare.  
  
"N-nothing, sweetheart," he said, "I just backed you up with some agreeing gestures, is all." He hopped casually off of the bed, grinning hopefully at her.  
  
Lily cocked an eyebrow; she wasn't buying any of this. "Sure, James." James responded with a nervous chuckle.  
  
Harry, who had his backpack slung over his shoulder with one hand, and his tattered suitcase in the other, said, rather impatiently, "Are you two ready to go yet?"  
  
Lily nodded. "Yes. Sure you have everything, love?"  
  
Harry looked around the room. He had to admit they'd done a good job clearing the place out. All that was left was the furniture and some useless knick-knacks that Harry didn't need. Then he remembered; the pies! They were still under his bed.  
  
"Dad," he said, "could you check under my bed for a big box?"  
  
James nodded and did as he was asked. He grunted a bit, but managed to heave the large box onto Harry's bed.  
  
"This one?" he asked, sounding rather strained.  
  
"Yup," answered Harry. "That's the one."  
  
"What do you keep in there? It's damn heavy."  
  
"It's a box full of pies that my friend's mum sent me," he explained, "They know that I don't get enough to eat over here. That's another reason why I love going back to Hogwarts. They feed you there."  
  
Lily had a somewhat disgusted look on her face. "Who do you live with," she wondered aloud, "that won't feed you properly?"  
  
Harry debated whether he should tell her. He of course didn't know his mother and his aunt's past, and didn't know how deep their resentment for each other laid. So perhaps Lily wouldn't be as miffed as he imagined to find that he lives with her sister and her obese family members.  
  
"Just people," said Harry, repositioning the bag on his shoulder and regripping the suitcase. "Let's go."  
  
"What kind of people?" Lily stepped in front of him, blocking his way. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared down at him.  
  
"Do you have to give me that look?" he asked. She remained the same. Harry sighed. "I live with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon."  
  
James, who had expected this, didn't react much to the news. He just sat up and watched Lily intently.  
  
"You--you live with my sister?" she asked. "Why?"  
  
"Because all of my other relatives are dead," he said glumly, staring at the floor. Lily put a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"We're here now."  
  
"Hear, hear," piped James, getting up from his seat on the bed and moving beside his wife. "Indeed we are!" Lily, for the first time that day, smiled at him. A real, genuine smile. Harry had to admit that she was pretty for a mum.  
  
"So...do you want to see her? Or are we just going to sneak out?"  
  
"I think I've been through enough stress today, don't you?" laughed Lily. Harry nodded.  
  
"Let's just go, then."  
  
James noticed that they were forgetting something. "What about your trunk?"  
  
"Oh!" Harry turned around. "Well, I can't carry it! My hands are full!"  
  
"And I can't, because I just had--" Lily cut herself off, and she and James exchanged meaningful "Oops!" glances, "--an operation. And I'm not supposed to lift anything heavy."  
  
"Oh, Lily," said James, walking past her. "You don't have to carry it! Wingardium Leviosa!"  
  
The trunk lifted a few feet off of the ground and James steered it towards the door.  
  
"Come on!" He said, leading the way. He steered the trunk down the staircase, Harry and Lily at his heels.  
  
Harry wondered what Lily had meant when she said "I just had--". He didn't believe her for a moment about the operation. Not after the looks she and James gave each other. Besides, if she'd just had an operation, then why was she lugging baby Harry around all the time. Harry had to admit--he'd been a rather big baby. Not fat, just big. Perhaps it was because Lily was so tiny and it just made him look big. Who knew? As for the 'operation', Harry definitely had to look into that.  
  
A high-pitched squeal brought Harry out of his reverie. They had been just about to open the front door when it emitted from upstairs. Aunt Petunia, flanked by Vernon and Dudley, were standing at the top of the staircase eyeing the Potters (and the floating trunk) with extreme disgust.  
  
"Who are these people?!" barked Uncle Vernon, who had never seen Lily or James in his life, and was quite clueless on the matter. Aunt Petunia, though, stood there in shock, staring at her little sister as if she were some kind of deadly germ. "And why have you got your things packed? There're two months left before school starts."  
  
"I know," said Harry, "and I'm spending them with my parents."  
  
Now it was Uncle Vernon's turn to gape at him. He looked like a pig in his pajamas and cap, gaping at him like a brainless idiot. Which he was. James was rather amused. As was Harry. But Lily looked nervous. Harry could tell that she was having a hard time keeping direct eye contact with the Dursleys; she looked up at them for a second or two, and then looked over at the walls, seemingly admiring the pictures of Dudley and Petunia.  
  
"Lily?" breathed Petunia, moving past her husband and son and slowly descending the staircase. "Is that really you?"  
  
Sheepishly, Lily nodded.  
  
"But...but how? Why? When?" She then averted her gaze to Harry. "It was you, wasn't it? I knew something weird was up yesterday. Those owls. They weren't bringing you schoolwork. Your society is plotting against me. They brought...her...back."  
  
Lily went red and stared down at the floor, feeling sad. James switched his wand to his right hand and put his left in hers. She smiled gratefully.  
  
"Don't you insult my mum!" snapped Harry. "What did she ever do to you?"  
  
Aunt Petunia raised an eyebrow, stepping the rest of the way down the stairs, she and Harry not taking their gaze off of one another.  
  
"What did she ever do to me?" echoed Aunt Petunia. Harry could feel another rant coming on. "Just look at her!" cried Aunt Petunia, gesturing with her hand, "does she look anything like me?"  
  
"Er...no," Harry said, "but what does that--"  
  
"Exactly. She was the one to inherit our mother's looks, while I took more after our father. I'm the plain one and Lily could be a model if she wanted to. That caused some of the resentment. Then, during the summer she turned eleven, that--that---(she seemed to be incapable of saying 'Hogwarts')-- school wrote to her and said she was magical. And then she met you"--she indicated James--"and ran off to get married."  
  
"I did not run off!" shrieked Lily indignantly. James squeezed her hand for comfort. "You make it sound like I'm some promiscuous little--"  
  
"And finally, she got pregnant with you, Harry. She had her looks, her magic, her husband, and her perfect little baby. Lily got everything."  
  
"So...you're jealous?" asked Harry bluntly. Aunt Petunia stuck her nose in the air.  
  
"I never said that."  
  
"Really, now?" asked James. "Because that's what your whole rant sounded like to me."  
  
"No. I merely said that Lily got everything she wanted, and I'm stuck with a normal life," clarified Petunia.  
  
James and Harry raised their eyebrows at her. "Then why have you always been so negative towards magic?"  
  
Aunt Petunia tried to give herself a dignified look to make her look intelligent and to stall for time. "I couldn't bear the thought of anyone finding out about Lily. Then my only chance at a normal life would be ruined. I'd be mocked and ridiculed for the rest of my days."  
  
Frankly, James was getting tired of his sister-in-law's melodramatic tendencies. He wanted to end this conversation as soon as humanly possible. ASAHP.  
  
"Sorry to put the damper on your Filibuster Firework," said James, trying to sound apologetic, "but we have to get home. We've got a lot of unpacking to do."  
  
He opened the front door with his free hand and levitated the trunk through it. He put a hand on Lily's shoulder to hurry her and she walked out the door without even a good-bye. Harry, struggling under the weight of the backpack and suitcase, staggered out the door behind them.  
  
"It's about time you left!" he heard Vernon call. The door slammed shut behind them and the glass rattled dangerously.  
  
"What...lovely people you've lived with Harry," commented James sardonically. "I'll make it up to you," he muttered out of the side of his mouth as he passed him.  
  
"So how're we getting home?" asked Harry. "With all this stuff, I mean."  
  
"There's only one way," conceded James. "We have to make a Portkey."  
  
"No, James!" intervened Lily. "I just got to this decade and you're not getting us thrown into jail so soon." Harry gave his mother an odd look, at which she grinned.  
  
"We won't get caught," said James confidently. He slipped out of one of his shoes and then gently lowered the trunk to the pavement, careful not to let the box of pies slide off of the top.  
  
"Colloportus!" uttered James, sealing the box to the surface of the trunk with an odd, squelching noise. "That ought to hold it for the trip."  
  
James mumbled something and then pointed the wand at his shoe. "Portus! Alright, now both of you secure your belongings and keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times. This agency is not responsible for any losses you may or may not experience while--" Lily glared. "Would you stop being a moron?" James grinned at her.  
  
"Certainly, M'dear. Anything for you." Lily turned slightly pink, but said, "Oh, just get on with it."  
  
"Touch the shoe on the count of three. One...two...three!"  
  
Once again, Harry felt a tug at his navel and he was pulled forward at an incredibly high speed. He opened his eyes slightly and observed what he could of the scenery that was zooming past. He could see swirls of green, brown, blue and white. He assumed it was the countryside they were soaring over. All too soon, they came to a complete stop and fell to the ground in front of a very familiar looking house.  
  
It was the house at Godric's Hollow.  
  
It looked a lot different in the daylight. Or perhaps it was just because, technically, it was fifteen years into the future, and the house hadn't been used in a long while. And obviously hadn't been kept up. The lawn was overgrown, the shed, which was on the side of the house, needed repainting, and the driveway needed to be re-paved, as there seemed to be plants coming up from underneath the concrete, and it was now cracked in several places.  
  
"Well, it certainly looks fifteen years older," remarked Lily, walking past her husband and son with a backwards glance.  
  
James just rolled his eyes. "She's only annoyed at us for last night. She'll get over it. Once we fix her precious house."  
  
Harry and James brought the trunk and pies, and backpack and suitcase up to the front door.  
  
"Open it, Lil," urged James. She cautiously extended her hand and grabbed the doorknob. It needed replacing too. The copper coating had gone green except for a few spots. She turned it and pushed the door open. A cloud of dust rose into the air and they all coughed and swooshed their arms around in an attempt to clear it. Once it settled, they stepped inside and Harry laid his luggage down. As did James.  
  
The house looked pretty much the same, except for the fact that it had multitudes of dirt and grime caked nearly everywhere. Harry prayed that he wouldn't have to use the bathroom tonight. Everything was in exactly the same place as last night. Nothing had been touched at all.  
  
"This will take ages to clean," whined Lily. "And we'd just finished moving in four months ago!"  
  
"Don't fret, Mum," said Harry with a grin. "You have more help this time."  
  
So for the next two weeks, the house took up nearly all of the Potters' time. They did most everything themselves except for the driveway, which they hired someone to take care of, and the "super dust" as Harry called it. It was just far too much for Lily to handle, and James had taken pity on her and hired cleaners.  
  
They bought entirely new furniture since all of theirs was either rotten, molded, or stained. Or all three. James and Lily, Harry noted, got into the stupidest of fights. Their new furniture was the most recent one. Wherever James wanted it, Lily didn't. And when they put it Lily's way, everything was too cramped. Lily didn't like it when James got his way and was in a bitter mood for the rest of the day.  
  
The painting was where they had the most fun. Nearly all the rooms had to be repainted. The cleaners could get the dust and grime away, sure, but removing the stains, they claimed, was a whole other issue. They wanted extra for it. James had refused, respectfully, and insisted on simply painting the walls himself. So of course, Lily had to join in. And Harry didn't like to miss out on time with his parents, so he joined as well. The painting was probably the part that took the longest out of all the jobs. Each room needed about 2-3 coats and painting was very tiring.  
  
Thank God they had finished. It was something that Harry was very glad for. Not that he didn't enjoy splattering his mum with paint, or listening to James's random outbursts of "Stop! Paint, stop the dripping! I can't take it anymore!" But one does grow exhausted.  
  
He had just gotten out of the shower and dressed in his summer night clothes which he'd neglected to remove from his trunk all summer. It just occurred to them that Aunt Petunia still had his clothes at her house.  
  
Harry, though worn out from painting, still didn't feel like heading up to bed just yet. It was very windy upstairs, as James had turned on loads of fans to air out the paint smell, and Harry didn't need the breeze and wet hair. He slid down the stair railing and hopped off onto the newly steamed carpet, which still felt warm beneath his feet. He could hear someone in the kitchen and crept silently through the living room to check it out. It smelled rather like chocolate as he got nearer to the kitchen.  
  
It was Lily. She was sitting at the kitchen table in her pajamas. Sipping hot chocolate. In the middle of August. He stepped fully into view and the cool tiles made him shiver.  
  
"Mum?" She turned her head.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Have you lost it?"  
  
"You know, I asked myself the same question on my wedding day," she said, smiling.  
  
"I'm serious!" he informed her. "Why are you drinking hot chocolate in the summer time?"  
  
"Because she's insane," came a voice from behind Harry. He turned to see his father, also in pajamas, smiling at his family.  
  
"You're one to talk," she said, sipping at her cocoa.  
  
James gave her a "very funny" look. "And I heard what you said about our wedding day. You meanie." He sniffled and covered his face with his hands, pretending to cry.  
  
"Aww!" she cooed in mock sympathy. "Does Jamie want a hug?"  
  
"Mmm hmm!" he nodded. Lily set her cocoa down on the table and held her arms out for him, which he gladly accepted. She kissed him.  
  
"Alright," said Harry, "no one wants to see you two snog."  
  
"We didn't ask you to stare," said Lily, who was having her neck kissed by James. Harry mimed vomiting and Lily gave him the one finger salute. "How do you think you got here?" she asked.  
  
That was the final straw for Harry. He left the kitchen immediately. No one needed those kind of images.

Yay! I finished my third chapter! And on Saturday, I leave for my vacation! Wh00t! Hope you enjoyed the chappie!  
  
A GINORMOUS domo to my reviewers!  
  
Piper of Locksley - I do not. Lezzy! Glad you liked the chappie. And I've seen plenty of one-year-olds who can say "Mummy" thank you.  
  
LJstagflower4e/JCtigerwolf4e - Aww! Becca! I'm touched! I really am! Hehe, and I'm glad you liked the note. I thought it was funny too. It was kind of a rotten deal for them, but hey, you know how it ends. ::wink::  
  
Nastygurl - You're welcome! I'm glad you like it! Thank you for the compliment!

Megan


	4. A Girl, an Insult, and a Cellar

Author's Note: I'm starting the beginning of this chapter today, Thursday night, but as you read it right now, know that it is over a week old, and I have already been on vacation. It was really great; I went to Washington D.C. to see the fireworks downtown and then up to New York to meet some of my dad's family, plus Niagara Falls to do the Maid of the Mist and Cave of the Winds tours, and then I crossed Rainbow Bridge over to Canada. They have the coolest shops there, not to mention that our money is worth more over there, so everything was uber cheap. Then back down to D.C. to have dinner with the family. And after that, further down to Virginia Beach for Busch Gardens and MORE cousins. Feh, as if I need more. And their children were annoying, too. But I still had a very good time. Oh, and I advise you to NEVER agree to sit in a car for thirteen hours straight.

Dedications: Hai, more.

Sierra Charm: Who got me interested in fanfiction with her wonderful stories!

Laura Rojas-Glad: For convincing me that my writing is good, even though I have trouble believing her sometimes.

Becca: She thinks my story is funny. I think she's insane. You gotta love her. : P

Chapter Four: A Girl, an Insult, and a Cellar

(An underground house. Surrey. August 14th 1996. 8:04a.m.)

A young girl stretched and sat up in bed. Her long, red, curly hair was slipping out of her hair tie and onto her freckled shoulders. She yawned, removed the hair tie, and put her hair up again in a neater ponytail. She hopped out of bed and skittered across the cold tiles to the window and pulled back the curtains. The bright, morning sun spilled into the room, lighting all of its contents. She squinted her eyes at the light.

Of course, it wasn't a real window. Just a charm. It was so life-like, though, that sometimes she had tried to open it and climb out into the open air to explore the forest surrounding the house she lived in with her grandmother. She shivered; it was always so chilly in her bedroom, even in the middle of summer. One more reason to dislike an underground house.

It was for their protection, though. Mostly hers, but somewhat for her grandmother. She needed a caretaker, after all. After the death of her parents, and after her older brother had been attacked and relocated from her parents' house, she didn't have any relatives left besides her grandmother. Well, she had her aunt and uncle, who were related to her mother, but they were Muggles. And she much preferred the company of her grandmother. Muggles were so close-minded when it came to Witches and Wizards.

"Alexa!" came the usual morning call, "Breakfast!"

Still shivering a bit in her spaghetti-strap pajama top and shorts, Alexa scurried out of her bedroom and down the winding staircase in hopes of a warm meal. When she entered the kitchen, which was still as cluttered as ever with counters stacked high with pots and pans, Alexa smiled at her grandmother, who was scooping eggs onto two plates. She was a short woman, about 5'4" tall, with graying chestnut hair, soft, blue, welcoming eyes, a round, happy face, and had a bit of extra weight on her, due to the lack of leaving the house for exercise. Alexa could smell the bacon, sausage, and hash browns (which her grandmother always added herbs and spices to) before she could see them and happily took her seat at the tiny kitchen table.

"You seem cheerful this morning," said Anna, her grandmother. She set the greasy egg pan into the sink and turned on the tap to let a small amount of water trickle into it before shutting it abruptly off again. She took her seat across from Alexa, who, by now, had a helping of everything.

"Hungry, too," she added with a grin, adding strips of bacon and sausage links to her own plate.

Alexa nodded. "I didn't eat much last night. I'm making up for it." Anna chuckled.

Anna was Alexa's paternal grandmother. She hadn't told Alexa much about her father, but had given her a few pictures of him and his wife, Alexa's mother. Alexa and her mother looked almost exactly the same: red hair, freckles all over her body, and body structure. Except for the eyes. They were like her fathers. Sort of a brownish color. Alexa thought they looked odd amongst the red hair and freckles, but Anna had just argued that they added to her charm. And while she'd given her granddaughter pictures of her parents to dwell on, Anna refused to answer almost any question Alexa asked about her parents, including as to what their names were. She had said that it pained her too much to speak of Alexa's father, who had been her only son.

Alexa understood this, of course, but it frustrated her a bit. She'd been left in the dark about her parents from the moment she learned to talk. Anna even stopped her from snooping for any other pictures or information about them by hiding all of their pictures and other belongings in a safe in her room. Anna was friendly enough, but didn't like too many questions about her son.

They'd lived in this underground house together since Alexa was one month old. That was when her parents had left her with Anna for safe keeping until they were safe from danger. What danger, Alexa had no idea. She just knew that they'd only left her here because she was too small and delicate at that age to be around the danger at her parents' house, and it would have been hard for them to protect both themselves and two babies. Alexa's older brother was a little bit over a year older than her, and big enough to stay with his parents. In a way, Alexa had envied him for this, and for a while, she'd even convinced herself that she hated him for being with them. But she got over it. She knew that all of those feelings would go away once she finally saw him. He was, after all, the only other living relative of hers besides her grandmother and Muggle aunt. Her aunt's husband didn't technically count as a relative, as he wasn't blood related.

Meeting her brother was something Alexa had dreamt of for as long as she'd known he existed. Anna had also given her pictures of him, but he was a little baby in one of them, and a boy of around five in the other. As far as Alexa knew, he was nearly sixteen now, one year older than herself. He had a lot of their father's features. Most of them, actually. His black, messy hair, bad vision, which resulted in his cute little silver-rimmed glasses in the older picture. He really did look like a mini version of their father. Except for his eyes. They were the same as their mother's: bright green. Like emeralds. They were very pretty, she thought, wishing she had inherited them as well. They'd be better than her brown ones any day. But her brother was unlucky in one aspect; he lived with the Muggle relatives. He had been taken there after his parents died. Not to Anna's. No one but Dumbledore knows that they're here, and he figured that it would be best for them to grow up away from each other until they're ready to meet each other and to learn the truth about their parents. That time, it seemed to Alexa, didn't appear to be coming very soon. Another drawback for Alexa is that she can't go to Hogwarts like her brother does, because strange questions might arise from other school children and she would be tempted to tell him--and any close friends she might make--the truth.

So she had been home schooled all her life, and only been allowed outside of the house a few times before. Luckily, the house was large enough, and full of interesting things, so it kept her busy.

And although she didn't go to Hogwarts or interact with many other people, she did get to read the _Daily Prophet _on occasion, and had read many things about her brother. (Clip outs of articles that her grandmother had permitted her.) For instance, the articles about the Triwizard Tournament two years ago. She'd read about how her brother (his name had been magic-markered out ) had become the champion for Hogwarts, though underage, along with another boy, and competed in the three tournament tasks. He'd won the cup and the 1,000 galleons when he reached the cup before the competitors from the other schools. Alexa had also read articles Rita Skeeter had written about him in _Witch Weekly _and the _Daily Prophet_. She hadn't much liked them, and hoped that her brother had done something about the rumors Skeeter had spread.

She also got to hear stuff that the general public didn't. Like the events that took place after the third task. She'd heard it all from her grandmother, who heard it from Dumbledore. Her brother and another competitor (his name was also magic-markered out) had been transported to a graveyard by means of the trophy, which had been turned into a Portkey before the task took place. There they had met Voldemort, whom she knew had killed her parents, and was her family's worst enemy. Voldemort killed the other boy and then went after her brother. They had dueled and their wands formed some kind of bond that forced all of Voldemort's victims out of his wand in a ghost-like forms. Her brother had seen their parents and they had spoken to him. To Alexa, it just wasn't fair that she was cooped up inside all the time while he had the freedom to do anything he pleased.

Another thing she found not only unfair, but also quite odd, was the fact that her grandmother would tell her anything about her brother's school life that she wanted to hear, but she wouldn't answer a single one of her questions about her parents.

Alexa concocted a plan.

(Godric's Hollow. August 14th 1996. 8:55a.m.)

Harry ambled down the stairs at nearly nine in the morning. Perhaps the old saying wasn't such a wives' tale after all. Late to bed, late to rise. 'Twas true. He crossed the living room and entered the kitchen, which smelled of frying bacon and eggs. Harry inhaled their lovely scents and took a seat next to James at the table.

"Morning," said James, giving the _Daily Prophet _he was reading a good shake as he turned the page.

"M-m-m-morning," said Harry through a yawn. Lily looked at him from over her shoulder. She smiled at him. Harry noted that she seemed happier than she'd been yesterday. She was even humming a cheerful tune.

Harry looked at his dad and raised an eyebrow. "I'm assuming that you two had fun last night."

James paled, embarrassed. "Wh-what gave you that idea, Harry?" He grabbed his orange juice from the table and sipped nervously on it, sinking low beneath the paper.

Harry pulled a "do you really want me to answer that" face. "And Mum would be cheerily humming, why?"

Lily, judging by her pink cheeks Harry spotted as she brought their food over to the table, had heard him, and set their plates down rather hastily in front of them and took a seat on the opposite side of James, as to avoid Harry's teasing stare.

He just laughed and started on his breakfast. He spent most of the time thinking about various things: the amazing events of the last few weeks, Lily's little slip-up at the Dursleys' (which he still needed to question her about sometime), and then less important things such as Quidditch and how well he did on his O.W.L.s, which he still hadn't gotten back, as a matter of fact….

Tap. Tap. Tap.

All three Potters turned to look behind them at the large, kitchen window next to the stove. Hedwig, who had miraculously found them, was hovering outside, looking quite strained under a heavy bag in her claws and a letter clamped in her beak. She looked most urgent to relieve herself of this burden.

Harry quickly crossed the room and unlocked the window to let his owl in. She landed on a section of counter and dropped the bag, relieved, which spilled over onto the floor. It was his laundry, now clean, from Privet Drive.

He bent down to pick the clothes up, simultaneously questioning the bird, "What were you doing there?" and received a look that very much said, "Looking for you."

"Ah," he said, slightly embarrassed, and set the clothes rather carelessly into the bag. "What's that you've got there?" he said, indicating the large, yellow envelope she was holding. Hedwig took a step towards him and lifted her beak higher into the air, as if asking him to take the letter. He did so and as he turned it over, he noticed the official looking Hogwarts seal on it and took a deep breath: his O.W.L. scores.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see his parents watching him avidly, as if they, too, knew what the letter contained. He slit it open.

Dear Mr. Potter,

Enclosed are the scores from your Ordinary Wizarding Levels (O.W.L.s) which you were tested for last June. You were graded on both your practical and physical exams and had a possibility of earning fourteen O.W.L.s. Your scores are printed below. (Harry took a deep breath).

Transfiguration: Practical--E, Physical--E

Potions: Practical--P, Physical--E (Harry was very surprised at this; he had been expecting to fail Potions entirely.)

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Charms: Practical--E, Physical--A

Herbology: Practical--A

Astronomy: Practical--A, Physical--P

Defense Against the Dark Arts: Practical--E, Physical--O (Harry gaped at this, as he had not been expecting any Os at all, but then figured that it must have resulted from the Patronus Charm Professor Tofty had requested from him, not to mention all the training from the D.A.)

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History of Magic: Practical--P

Divination: Practical--P, Physical--P

'_Well, that was expected_,' he thought after seeing his Divination scores. The chances of him passing that rubbish subject weren't very high at all.

But nine O.W.L.s! And no 'Ds'! Harry was quite pleased indeed, and also quite sure that he did better than Ron, whose Charms exam could have gone better.

At Harry's grin, Lily, tentatively, asked, "Are those your O.W.L.s?"

He nodded and brought the letter over to his parents, neglecting his bag of laundry, who seemed to be happy, not to mention hopeful, at their son's cheerful disposition.

Lily took it from him and read it, James looking over her shoulder. Their grins became wider as they read on, wavering only slightly at the five 'Ps' in subjects that Harry figured didn't matter. Except perhaps Potions, which he needed to become an Auror. Lily, when finished, set the letter gingerly on the table in front of her and turned to face her son.

"Well," she said slowly, trying to suppress her pride (as she liked to come off as a tough mum), "overall I'm pleased, but why are there _five_"--she put an emphasis on the word 'five' which lead Harry to suggest that she'd done much better in her day--"Ps amongst all those other grades?" She raised an eyebrow demandingly at him and folded her arms expectantly over her chest. "History of Magic is one of the easiest subjects in that school, not to mention Potions and Astronomy. The only grades I'm willing to excuse are the ones from Divination. Crap subject."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, it is. And the Astronomy grade wasn't entirely my fault."

Lily gave him an "oh, really?" look. "Really, now? So your test, the one that should have gotten at least an E, was scored under someone else's name, was it?"

Harry glared at her. "No," he said, sounding both indignant and annoyed, "things just…happened on that night."

"What kind of things?" she pressed.

"Oh, Lily," said James, exasperated, before Harry could answer, "Lay off of the boy. He passed in all of the subjects that matter!" She rounded on him with a glare.

"And Astronomy, Potions, and History of Magic don't matter?"

"Like you didn't goof off in that class just as much as a normal person," conceded James, referring to History of Magic.

Lily looked a mixture between indignantly enraged and sad, "A _normal_ person? So now you're implying that I'm not normal? And I'll have you know, James Potter, that I, unlike you and your mates, paid attention in Binns's class."

"Right!" said James, sounding sarcastic and angry, but leaning towards the latter, "So what would you call writing notes to Alice Longbottom and…and…_Amos Diggory_." As James said the name "Amos Diggory," Harry realized that it was the first time he had ever heard his father use a bitter tone. And judging by the flush on Lily's face, he had a damn good reason to be angry.

But, just to be sure, Harry asked, "What were you doing writing letters to him?" James gave him an indulgent sort of grin, before resuming his glare upon his wife.

"Yes, Lily," said James, sounding bitterly delighted, "do tell Harry why."

"No reason," she said, suddenly admiring the kitchen tiles. James cleared his throat rather loudly and gave her chair leg a slight kick. She looked up at him, seeming rather embarrassed and wanting to change the subject, but mumbled something nonetheless.

"What was that, Lily?" asked James, cupping his hand around his ear, "I don't think we heard you correctly."

"He was my…." she whispered softly, trailing off.

"Your what?" pressed James, to annoy her.

"He was my boyfriend, all right?" she said, still softly, and in a tone which made James feel very guilty for his behavior, but still he pressed on in a determined attempt to get Lily back for her comment about him and his friends.

"Yes, yes he was," he said, "along with half the other guys from the fourth year!"

"You know that's a lie," she whispered, sounding tearful. Apparently her good mood had gone down enormously since the start of breakfast. Especially now at the suggestion of being a whore from her own husband….

She stood up, trying to hide her tears, "Good job on your tests, Harry," she managed to whisper before hurrying out of the room, which left James very little time to tell her that he was only teasing: she'd gone out of earshot before he could even open his mouth. Harry, despite his previous defense of his father, gave him a look of utter disgust before following Lily out of the room.

It didn't take him long to find her, as he could hear her sobs from even at the foot of the stairs, and he hurried up the staircase. She was sitting, curled up in a ball under a blanket, on a couch in a room, which was down the hall from Harry's, lined with bookshelves and pictures of moving people, and nice furniture, including the coffee table that flanked Lily's couch.

He stepped hesitantly into the room, unsure of whether she wanted him to be there or not, but walked quicker and took a seat at the couch at her beckon. She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face into his pajama top, leaving him patting her rather awkwardly on the back.

"Shh," he soothed when her cries and shaky breathing didn't subside, "he didn't mean it. Don't cry, Mum."

"I--It w-w-wasn't t-true!" she wailed, her voice muffled by Harry's pajamas, "A-Amos was th-the only other boyfriend b-b-besides James. And we-we'd broken up long before J-James and I started d-dating." She cried louder and Harry continued to try and comfort her.

James stood nervously in the doorway, wringing his hands and trying to think of how, exactly, to word what he needed to say to Lily. Harry beckoned him over and he stood next to Harry, patiently waiting. Harry tapped his mother on the shoulder and she looked up for a moment at James, but quickly reburied her face into Harry's shirt. James knelt down and, not knowing what else to do, gently stroked Lily's hair with his hand and whispered, "Lily, please talk to me--or even look at me--I didn't mean it. I swear. I was just trying to get you back for your comment about me. I'm so sorry." And he really did sound it. After she continued to ignore him, James said, "Lily, I love you. I know you're not--not that way. Please forgive me."

These words, however, did seem to have somewhat of an affect on her, as she slid off of the couch and into his arms. He smiled down at her and cuddled her, wrapping her in his robes and planting a kiss on her forehead.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, looking her in the eyes. "Do you forgive me?"

Lily laid her head on his shoulder and he felt her nod. Harry smiled at his parents, who, despite moments like at breakfast, seemed like a very happy couple and no doubt now remained in his mind that they were in love.

Anna had gone off to Hogwarts for an evening with Dumbledore; she needed to catch up on what had happened to Alexa's brother during his school year. And of course, Alexa was stuck at home.

But surprisingly tonight, for the first time in her life, she was okay with this. It fit in perfectly with her plan. She needed Anna to be out of the house for it to succeed.

Alexa was quite nervous about the whole ordeal, to tell the truth. She was planning to sneak into her grandmother's room and break into her safe to take a look at all of the things pertaining to her parents which Anna kept hidden from her. Never in her life could she remember doing something like this. Something so dishonest and deceitful. It was very unlike her.

What kept her motivated was the reminder that she wouldn't have to be doing this if her grandmother was honest with her about her family. It was all her fault, really. Alexa pushed open the door silently, despite the fact that she was the only one home. Sneaking into her grandmother's bedroom gave her a sense of foreboding, not to mention that, when empty of her grandmother's music (or the television), and the marvelous aroma of food simmering in the kitchen, the house was rather spooky.

With the door now wide open, Alexa stepped timidly into the bedroom. It was much bigger than her own, at least twice the size. But, she thought as she looked around at the great amount of knick-knacks and furniture her grandmother possessed, she seemed to need all of the room. Though, among all of these possessions, the safe which held everything Alexa wanted was not there.

She slumped her shoulders and plopped down onto a beanbag chair in a corner by the closet, a lovely vintage rug laid out in front of it.

Where could that safe be? Anna had told her countless times that it was hidden in her room. Alexa mentally analyzed that thought: hidden. And as she looked around the cluttered bedroom, she detected many places in which it could be located. Glimpsing the rug at her feet, however, sparked something in her memory. In a great deal of the mystery stories she'd read in the past, the treasure, contained in a chest, a box, or various other objects for safe-keeping, were located under some sort of portrait or a rug. And there just happened to be a rug laying at her feet.

She dragged it aside letting it scrape softly on the ground as it did so, and sure enough, there was a square safe, wide enough for two people to sit on, lodged into the ground below it. The first difference she noticed that it had from a regular safe was its lock. It didn't stick out from the rest like a normal one did, but rather dented it by going lower. It was still circular, yes, but it resembled an old-fashioned telephone dial more than anything. Alexa guessed that it was built this way so that no one would step on it and realize its presence if they should venture into Anna's quarters.

The problem of the combination now irked her. There were nine numbers to choose from and any of them could be the right ones! And she didn't even know how many she needed.

So for the next twenty minutes she played around with the numbers a bit, trying to guess the right combination. When nothing worked, she became very frustrated and was near tears. She wished that she lived with Harry, who probably knew a lot more about their parents than she did.

'_One more try_,' she thought, reaching out for the numbers again. '_I'll try her birthday_.'

At the soft click of the lock, Alexa gasped. She did not expect it to work. Surely Anna would have picked something a little more difficult than her birthday! But, then again, not many people knew her birthday, so it might have been a wise choice after all.

Alexa's hand trembled as she reached for the handle (which normally lay flat against the safe door, but had sprung to life when Alexa unlocked it, and was now sticking upright.

'I'm finally going to see everything she's been hiding,' she thought.

The hinges of the safe door gave a loud, eerie creak as she thrust the door open. Again, Alexa was surprised, because the safe did not, as she had previously thought, go down a mere couple of feet, but seemed to be a sort of cellar, as a dusty, ancient, stone staircase appeared at her feet.

'_She must keep all sorts of things down here_.' She pushed the door backwards so that it stood up by itself and set her foot on the staircase in preparation to descend.

She gave a yelp of shock and withdrew her foot; the floor was icy cold. It must have been because the cellar was ever further underground than the actual house and it had been sealed tightly, Alexa assumed from all the dust which had risen when the door opened, for quite some time.

Ignoring the cold of the steps and setting her heart on what she would discover below, Alexa put one foot in front of the other and was soon standing in a cold, dark, damp patch of dirt, illuminated only by a small lantern, looking as if it contained Gubraithian fire. She picked up the lantern and held it in front of her face. Light splashed all around her, brightening the shelves that surrounded her on three walls. They reached nearly to the ceiling and were layered with anything one could imagine.

Alexa peered around, lighting the boxes, knick-knacks, furniture, and books as she went. Anna kept everything down here; a trunk containing her childhood clothes and toys, photo albums from when she was younger, souvenirs from her vacations, bits of broken figurines she couldn't bear to part with, a box with the Christmas decorations, shoes, old letters, a couple of snapped wands, Chocolate Frog cards, tattered school books, and…on the shelf closest to a small, wooden door on the back wall, a knee-high cardboard box labeled 'Potters.'

She dropped to her knees and set the lantern down beside her. Could this be what she was looking for? The Potters? Was that her last name? She was never quite sure, as Anna had never told her this bit of information. Perhaps she feared that if she found it out, it would lead to more questions that she just didn't want to answer.

The box wasn't sealed, luckily, so if Anna looked at the box on her next trip down here, she wouldn't be able to tell that someone had been through it. Unless she knew where everything was positioned, although by the way she acted about her son's family, Alexa doubted that she went rummaging through here very often.

Alexa cringed at the cardboard's scraping when she undid the four top pieces of the box, which were stuck together. Finally, though, after about three minutes of struggle, she pulled them apart and gazed longingly into the box. There wasn't that much of anything in there, actually. Just a photo album, two pairs of robes, newspaper clippings, and a few sheets of spare paper.

Alexa picked up the photo album first, turned to lean against the box, simultaneously crossing her legs Indian-style, and set it in her lap. She opened it to the first page, which was labeled '1979-1980.' It showed five pictures of the same two people, a man and a woman. They were her parents. Alexa easily recognized them from the only picture she'd ever been given. In the first picture, her mother had her arm around her father's waist and they were standing in front of a large cabin next to a pumpkin patch. Alexa could also see the face of a heavily bearded, rather large, man in the window. The next one was a graduation picture of the two, reading "Lily Evans and James Potter--Head Boy and Girl," on a large gold and scarlet banner behind them. Were those their names? Lily Evans and James Potter? So that made her 'Alexa Potter,' and she quite liked the sound of that. The third picture was of their wedding day, followed by the fourth, in which Lily looked very pregnant. The last one Alexa liked best: her parents at the hospital with her brother as a baby in Lily's arms. She looked very happy to be a mum.

She turned the page and saw more pictures of her parents and brother as he got older. When he started looking around the age of six or seven months, Alexa noticed that Lily was pregnant again, presumably with her. She also noticed that her parents looked very young; they couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen.

After seeing only one picture of her infant self, Alexa heard footsteps overhead and dumped the album back into the box, but not before snatching up the newspaper articles and stuffing them in her robe pockets. She grabbed the lantern and stuck it back on its post, hurried up the stairs and shut the safe door.

Her luck seemed to run out as she was pulling the rug back over the door: Anna entered the room, handbag swinging on her wrist and humming a cheerful tune. But that soon ended. Her expression quickly changed from cheerful to surprised and angry, and those warm, welcoming eyes were now cold and beady. Anna was far from pleased.

"What are you doing in here?" she barked, her double chin wobbling in fury, "I told you to stay away from my room!"

Alexa rose to her feet and stared sheepishly at the floor, deciding it was best not to say anything.

Oh, someone's in trouble. ;;

A big ol' GRAZIE to my reviewers!

LJstagflower4e/JCtigerwolf4e--Do you have any idea how long your penname takes to type out? Anywho, Yay! I'm glad you liked it! I did the whole 'run down' description just for you. Now don't you feel special?

Jen--Ah, well. He deserved it. XD

Kelly--I know you didn't review this chapter, but you're a moron. XP. Just kidding. Glad you like my twisted humor.

Mei--Thank you! But I don't know how you could like that crappy old version. Oo

Megan


	5. Long Awaited Answers and the Burrow

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Author's Note: I don't really have anything boring, witty, funny, or wise to say to you before moving on to write this chapter, so I'll just leave you with these words and then off I go, "Licking doorknobs is illegal on other planets."

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Dedications: Actually, there are none for this chapter! Unless someone does something nonsensically dedication-worthy, then perhaps I might reconsider.

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Chapter Five: Long Awaited Answers and the Burrow

(An underground house. Surrey. August 14th 1996. 9:33p.m.)

"Why were you going through my things?" questioned Anna, staring her granddaughter straight in the eyes, looking far from happy. Alexa was seated at the kitchen table, hands folded nervously together in front of her, trying to avoid her grandmother's piercing stare. How could she have been caught? How could she have lost track of time? And that lead her to the question she had asked herself a little over an hour ago 'Why am I doing this?'

Alexa, who preferred not to look Anna in the eyes when she was enraged, lowered her head a bit and said, quite softly, so she couldn't hear the remorseful tone in her voice, "I was looking for information about my family."

Anna's eyes flashed angrily, and, for the moment that Alexa locked eyes with her, she thought that she was going to be yelled at, and/or subjected to a very long lecture. Even though she didn't like anyone asking her questions about James, she rather felt that she had been hiding too much from the child, and owed her an explanation. Especially after what she'd been told by Dumbledore earlier this evening. It seemed that her elder grandchild had had quite an eventful school year.

Surprising both herself and Alexa, Anna took the empty chair across from her at the table and assumed a serious disposition.

"We have a lot to talk about tonight," she said, "I will tell you as much as you want to know, as long as you show me patience and cooperation." Alexa nodded, surprised that she wasn't in trouble, and also wondering what had changed her grandmother's mind.

"Well," said Alexa, hopefully and slowly, "I suppose you'd better start out with why I'm here."

"Your parents brought you here," said Anna, although Alexa already knew this. "You needed to be away from their house. They knew that they didn't have too much time left."

"Why?" she questioned. "And why did my brother stay with them, then?"

"Voldemort was after your brother. It all has to do with a prophecy made quite some time ago. Harry, who is your brother, was, and still is, the only person who can get rid of him for good. Of course, Voldemort didn't like the sound of that, and planned to dispose of the boy as soon as possible."

Something dawned on Alexa. "His name is Harry?" she asked, giving Anna the impression that she wasn't paying much attention. "Harry Potter?"

"Yes," said her grandmother, slightly irritably, "what has that got to do with anything?"

"I know who that is!" said Alexa. "His name was in the papers a few weeks back! They called him 'The Boy Who Lived.'"

"We'll get to that," said Anna grouchily, "in a bit. Now let me finish my story." After a few seconds' pause with no interruptions from Alexa, who had gone silent and was waiting patiently, Anna cleared her throat and continued. "Your parents, who had heard about the prophecy and the fact that Voldemort was after their son, had the Fidelius Charm placed over them and their house, and they were safe. Their secret-keeper was Sirius Black."

"Who's that?"

"A friend of your father's. But two days after the spell had been performed, Sirius went to your father, James, with an idea. You see, they had this other friend called Peter Pettigrew who was, well"--Anna struggled to find the right word to describe him without sounding too harsh--"sort of weak. And unpopular. So Sirius figured that if they changed the secret-keeper to Peter, then they would be safe longer since no one would expect Peter to be carrying such a secret. James, who had thought it was a good idea at the time, agreed, and the switch was made. But to their own costs."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Alexa avidly, interrupting.

"If you'd stop interrupting," said Anna, coolly, "I'd get to that part." She waited again for Alexa to go silent before continuing. "Like I was saying, it was to their own cost that they changed it to Peter, because he had been working for Voldemort the whole time. He disclosed the information to his master, and a week later he showed up at their house in Godric's Hollow." Alexa shifted slightly in her seat; she knew that her parents' deaths were going to be described to her next. "He killed your mother first, and then your father. Little Harry was upstairs in his crib at the time. I think he only wanted to kill the real Potters, because he offered to let Lily live if she handed Harry over--"

"What do you mean 'real Potters'?" asked Alexa, fairly defensively. "My mum was a Potter!"

"But she wasn't blood," Anna pointed out, "she only married in. Now quit interrupting me." Alexa nodded. "But Lily wouldn't hand him over," she continued, "so he killed her. Then he went upstairs to find Harry. When he did, he raised his wand on the child and cursed him. But something happened and the spell did not kill Harry, but shot back at Voldemort, who nearly died, and he fled the house."

"Is that why Harry has that mark on his head in that picture you gave me?" asked Alexa, assuming she was finished with her story.

"Yes. That was all the curse managed to do."

"You never told me why I'm here and Harry isn't," Alexa reminded her. "I mean, I know why I'm here, but why did he go live with the Muggles instead of us?"

"Because, like I've told you many times before, only five people know about this house, and I like to keep that number small."

"Who are those five people?" she asked, "And why wouldn't you want him to stay here?"

"Well, you know three of them," said Anna, "you, me, Dumbledore, and then your parents know, too, of course. And I never said that I didn't want Harry to come live here. I'm sure he would have liked it better than the Dursleys anyhow."

"Then why doesn't he?"

"Because on the night your parents died, he was picked up by a man named Hagrid. Hagrid, we'll say, is not the tiniest person on the planet, being half-giant and all. He would have been very easy to follow. It was much safer for him to be taken to your Aunt Petunia's house."

"But there had to be some way to get him here!" said Alexa, rather whinily.

"Oh, sure there were ways, but Dumbledore had already made the necessary…arrangements…for him to stay there. Petunia Dursley is not the easiest person to get along with, you know. He had already convinced her into letting Harry stay there, so pulling him away, and breaking the enchantment, would really tick her off. Besides, what happened worked better anyway."

"Not for me!" wailed Alexa. "I would much rather go to Hogwarts with him. I really don't see why I couldn't before."

"We didn't need to attract too much attention," said Anna, "we already had to ensure Harry's protection while he's away from home, and we didn't need to fuss over you when it was unnecessary."

"How was it 'unnecessary'?"

"Harry didn't have someone at home to teach him," Anna pointed out. "Like you said, he lives with Muggles."

Alexa couldn't really argue this point, and moved on to her next question, "When will I get to see Harry?"

Anna, who Alexa expected would sigh and tell her 'never,' straightened up in her chair and became serious again. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Dumbledore shared an interesting little tidbit of information with me this evening." Anna paused dramatically, and Alexa held her breath, waiting. When she said nothing, Alexa said,

"And?" sounding quite eager and impatient, so Anna continued.

"Well," she began awkwardly, "this summer, for Harry's birthday, he received something that the Ministry of Magic had been working on last year. They needed to get rid of it, though, after they realized how dangerous it would be if placed in the wrong hands."

"So they gave it to my brother?"

"Well, yes and no. Dumbledore asked Fudge, who, if you didn't know, is the Minister of Magic, if he could keep the time-turner for someone who really needed it, and he agreed."

"I thought he didn't trust Dumbledore?"

"Oh, they've cleared things up," said Anna. "Anyway, I think Fudge knew what Dumbledore meant when he said 'someone who really needed it,' so he won't mind so much when he finds out what happened."

"What happened?" she inquired curiously.

"Well, when Dumbledore sent him the gift, he included a letter with a few clues for young Harry," she explained.

"What was the gift?"

"A new kind of time-turner. It works sort of like a time machine would, only much simpler to use. Harry used it to go back in time to rescue your parents."

(Fourteen fifty-seven Maple Oak Lane. August 14th 1981. 11:44 p.m.)

"Hey, Harry," said James, walking from the kitchen to the living room, where Lily and Harry were playing Wizards' Chess, mug in one hand and a letter in the other, "your owl's just come by with this." He handed the letter to him. "It seems your friend Ron has invited you over tomorrow for dinner." James raised an eyebrow at him and Harry grinned.

"I guess I'll have to tell the Weasleys about you two," said Harry, rising to depart, "I don't want any awkward questions while we're over there."

"What about our game?" called Lily as he jumped up the stairs to his bedroom.

"Later!" she heard him call. James took his seat where Harry had been. "I'll play."

And Harry spent the better part of two hours exchanging notes with Ron, telling him what had happened over the summer break.

(An underground house. Surrey. August 14th 1996. 11:53p.m.)

Alexa gasped softly. "H-he did?" Anna gave her a confirming nod. "So they're here? Why hasn't the future changed?"

"We're not exactly sure," said Anna. "They must have kept things the same, although I don't see how they could have if Lily and James are still alive."

"There has to be some logical explanation," conceded Alexa, sounding a lot like Lily.

"Indeed," Anna agreed.

After a long pause of awkward silence, Alexa asked, "Am I going to see Harry and our parents soon?"

Anna surveyed her seriously for a moment and then spoke. "Would you like to go to Hogwarts next year?"

"YES!" Alexa exclaimed, standing up so quickly that her chair collapsed to the floor behind her. Anna jumped back a bit in surprise, but chuckled at her granddaughter's enthusiasm all the same. "Do I really get to go? Why are you risking it now? Isn't Voldemort still after Harry and me?"

"Yes, but we, that is, Dumbledore and I, have figured out a way to make it possible for you four to live together as a family. You and Harry will both be able to attend Hogwarts next year."

Alexa's heart soared. "How?"

"They're going to come and live here with us," said Anna, "it's safest here."

"WOO HOO!" Alexa yelled gleefully, and began skipping around the kitchen.

(The Burrow. Somewhere outside of Ottery St. Catchpole. August 15th 1996. 8:12p.m.)

After a long and windy broom flight, the three Potters touched down in the front yard of Ron Weasley's house, the Burrow. To tell the truth, Harry was quite nervous, for the first time in his life, about going to the Weasleys' house.

Even though he had explained everything to Ron, and he had taken it quite well, and had shared it with everyone in the family (minus Percy, of course), including Fred and George, who were taking a vacation from the Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezies, Harry couldn't help but feel that something bad was going to happen.

But he pushed those thoughts out of his mind and knocked three times on their front door, his parents standing behind him, shifting slightly, James clutching both broomsticks. (He and Lily had shared one.)

The door swung forward and Mrs. Weasley appeared before them, trying to force a smile, when really, she was surveying Lily and James, looking a mixture between horrified and impressed.

"Hello, Harry dear," she said, opening the door wider, "And you too, Mr. and Mrs. Potter."

As James stepped inside, he reddened and said, "C-call me James." Molly nodded.

For the first time since his second year at Hogwarts, Harry saw all of the Weasleys, (minus the three elder brothers) seated around the kitchen table, which, if it were alive, would be groaning under the weight of all of the dishes lavished upon it. Mrs. Weasley had cooked at least twice as much as she had the last time Harry had been over for dinner. He could see all of his favorite foods including roast chicken, corned beef, peach cobbler, treacle tart, all sorts of vegetables, and corn bread.

"Take a seat," said Mrs. Weasley kindly, gesturing to the three seats across from where she was seated. All of the other Weasleys smiled at them, but at the same time, also looked very curiously and somewhat frightened at the two new Potters.

The meal went rather smoothly. Fred and George only managed to ask a few stupid questions ("What does it feel like to be dead?" asked Fred.) and a handful of crude comments such as ("I see dead people!" tittered George.), but luckily everyone, except Molly, who threw a roll at his head, found it funny.

The part Harry liked best was when they were finished with their dinner and got to go out back for dessert where they weren't in such close quarters. Lily and James took their dessert over to the picnic table with Arthur and Molly and they commenced their discussions about the Order and such, while Harry preferred the other table with Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George, to listen to other people talk, which he much preferred over keeping the conversation alive himself. Fred and George told them all about the business at their joke shop--it was booming---and Ron and Ginny talked about Quidditch. Mostly about the Tornadoes, who were top in the league these days.

When they got bored of talking, they laid down in the tall grass and stared up at the stars, drifting off into their own worlds. Harry had nearly fallen asleep when he heard the back door swing open and shut in quick succession, and he jolted awake.

"Nice of him to knock," muttered Ron, annoyed, at the sight of his Potions Master. Harry ignored him and fervently watched the adults.

"Molly, Arthur," said Snape, sounding rather flustered and in a panicky hurry, "we have a problem." He walked quickly over to the table and the four adults stood up promptly, awaiting his words. Even James, despite the fact that he and Snape had been enemies for years, took on a serious tone and did not made any snide remarks.

"What's wrong, Severus?" asked Arthur. "Were there any attacks?"

Snape shook his head. "No," he said, "we have a bigger problem than that." Molly, Arthur, Lily, and James looked even more concerned than before, and Harry, still watching, mumbled, "What could be worse?"

"Well?" prompted James, tired of the silence. "What is it, Snivelus?" Lily stepped on his foot and he glared at her. Snape gave James a horrible look and took a step towards James, hand clenched tightly around his wand. Not wanting any involvement, Arthur moved out of the way, gently pulling Molly with him.

"Just the same as you always were, Potter," said Snape coldly. "An arrogant bastard."

Lily was always prepared to defend Snape from her husband's antics, but she now felt that Snape had gone too far. Arrogant, James might be, but he was definitely not a bastard.

"OI!" said James. "My parents were married, I'll have you know!"

Everyone laughed at this, except for Snape, who just seemed more annoyed, and Lily, who rolled her eyes.

"Just stop your fighting, you two," said Lily waspishly. "Now what was so important?"

As if on cue, the back door swung open and a very familiar looking man stepped out, looking sheepish, and as if he was trying to avoid someone.

"I got your note, James," said Sirius, trying to avoid eye contact, sticking his hands in his pockets and rocking tensely from his toes to his heels.

(Percy's Flat. London. August 15th 1996. 11:02p.m.)

After a long, hard, stressful day of work at the Ministry, Percy Weasley collapsed, clad in his pajamas, into his bed and pulled the covers over him, ignoring the summer heat. His job, which he used to enjoy and take pride in, was becoming rather tiring lately. Cornelius Fudge, his boss, had quite lost it, in Percy's opinion. For the past year everything had been wonderful; they had expertly dealt with Harry Potter's cock-and-bull story about the Dark Lord returning to power and took all the necessary precautions to stop Dumbledore, who fervently supported and believed Harry, didn't frighten the Wizarding public into believing such lies.

But now, ever since a month or so ago, things had gone terribly wrong. Somehow, Dumbledore had convinced Fudge that he and Harry had been telling the truth, and now they were mass-producing home protection guides, printing useless articles praising Harry and Dumbledore in the _Daily Prophet_.

Percy had, of course, confronted Fudge about his sudden change of mind, to which his boss responded with the story of how Voldemort and his Death Eaters had broken into the Department of Mysteries over a month ago, and he, Cornelius, had seen them himself. Fudge had then told Percy that "one cannot deny what they have seen with their own eyes."

This had only irked him further. He, Percy, did not have any proof that Voldemort was, indeed, back. And firmly believed that Dumbledore had performed some kind of charm over his boss and issued a few memory charms to alter his beliefs. It was exactly the kind of thing a crazy, senile old man would do, he thought viciously.

Another thing he had a hard time believing was the fact that his parents continually supported Dumbledore and Harry Potter, who, Percy believed, was far from mentally stable himself. They ran around with him and his organization members for over a year, defying the Ministry's wishes, not to mention the law.

It was people like them that disgusted him.

Oh, if you're wondering why I used the expression 'hand him over' to describe the nights of their deaths, it was because when he asked her, in the revised version of Halloween, where Harry was, she wouldn't tell him, and, in the Canon of Harry Potter, J.K.R. uses the same expression to describe what Peter did when he told Voldiekins where the Potters were hiding. To me, it's used correctly to fit in with my revision and makes sense. If you would like to argue with this, please take a large metal rod--such as the one George Weasley threatened Zacharias Smith with--and kindly shove it up your ass. Thank you. : D

On a happier note, let's thank the reviewers! Not individually, but as one! THANK YOU!

Oh, and I've also decided to leave out the part about Snape and James being former friends. It's very minor, and not worth my time.

Megan


	6. The Secret's Out

****

Author's Note: Wow. It's been a MONTH already since I've updated. A bit more than a month, really. So I felt kinda guilty and whipped this up fer ya.

****

Dedications: More deserving people!

Mr. Blood: My former English teacher. He always supported and encouraged me even though my stories at the time sucked ass.

Anyone of significance that I've forgotten: So I don't get bitched at for not adding them. xD

****

Chapter 6: The Secret's Out

(The Three Broomsticks. Hogsmeade. August 16th 1996. 12:13a.m.)

Rita Skeeter sat at a table in the Three Broomsticks, twirling her poisonous looking green Quick-Quotes Quill through her fingers indolently, and occasionally sipping on her large mug of Firewhisky.

She was waiting for a certain Lucius Malfoy, who had owled her not even an hour ago, claiming to have big news for her. And Rita, being the ambitious journalist she is, agreed to meet him here for a chat.

Rita would interview nearly anyone for a story, so long as it was worth it, and that her safety was ensured. Malfoy, who she knew to be a Death Eater (that had just escaped from the Wizard prison, Azkaban, when the Dementors left it to rejoin Voldemort), didn't impose much of a threat to her, as he had been the one to seek her out. Lucius Malfoy, as she and many others well knew, had a way of getting what he wanted in the Wizarding World. He donated largely to charities of all kinds and lent large amounts of money to prominent Ministry employees so later, when he needed them, he could ask favors.

Though, on this occasion, Rita, who had never really liked Malfoy, didn't mind that he was getting his way, as she was getting a story out of it. And by the way he had talked, it would be a real money-maker.

She took a long draft of her Firewhisky right as the door to the pub swung open, and she ended up choking on it and slopping it down the front of her robes. Malfoy, who had been the one to enter the pub under a cloak and mask (quite different from his Death Eater ones, as these were green), took a seat across from her at the round wooden table and said, "Smooth, Skeeter."

Rita glared at him, annoyed, and then asked, "Can you even see with that thing on?"

"Of course," said Malfoy, "it has a one-way Translucence Charm on it."

Madam Rosemerta, who had been polishing cups with a dish towel, abandoned her task and called, "Can I get you anything, sir?"

Malfoy turned around in his chair, arm slung over the back, and said, "A Butterbeer would be fine."

She nodded and went to the back room to fetch one. Malfoy turned back to face Rita.

"So," she said, "what is this big news of yours?"

"First things first," he said professionally, as Madam Rosemerta brought his drink over to the table and set it in front of him. "Thanks," he muttered, paying her, and she walked back over to the bar. Lucius removed the part of the mask that was covering his face, leaving the hood on to hide from Madam Rosemerta, took a long sip of his mug, wiped the froth from his lip, and set the mug down with a clink before clearing his throat.

"Ahh. Butterbeer. I love the stuff. They didn't have it in Azkaban, sadly," he said with a sardonic grin.

Rita raised an eyebrow. "I didn't come here to hear about your prison life," she said coolly. "I came for a story."

Instead of threatening Rita or growing angry, he merely nodded. After all, he did want this information out in the open.

"I saw some things," he said seriously, "A few weeks ago."

"What kind of things?" she asked, scribbling on her sheet of parchment. "Where did you see them?"

"In Little Whinging," he said, "Near where Harry Potter lives. I saw…his parents."

Rita dropped her quill, but still gave him a dubious look before fetching her quill from the dusty pub floor. "You saw Lily and James Potter? Now, would you mind naming the drugs you were under the influence of at the time?"

"I'm serious!" said Malfoy, sounding indignantly annoyed. "All three of them were standing out in the street in broad daylight. The red-haired woman was even crying."

"Did you hear any of their conversation?" she asked eagerly, and the Quick-Quotes Quill was trembling slightly on the parchment as if it were awaiting his every word.

"The woman said something about Harry messing up her life, or something," he said nonchalantly, grinning over the rim of his mug as he took another long draft. "The boy had some kind of hourglass round his neck, as well."

Rita's quill had finished the page and was standing up on its point. She stuck it behind her ear, a slight satisfied smile on her face. She rolled up the parchment, stuck both it and the Quick-Quotes Quill into her alligator skin handbag and stood up.

"Thank you for your time this evening, Mr. Malfoy," she said with a wink, and kept her voice low in case Madam Rosemerta was listening.

Lucius didn't say anything, but rather lifted his mug in a sort of salute.

(The Ministry of Magic. London. Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic's Office. August 16th 1996. 7:30 a.m.)

Mr. Cornelius Fudge walked briskly into his office, early for the first time that week. He set his briefcase down on his desk, removed his green bowler hat and hung it on the hat rack, and placed his usual order for a cup of coffee--two creams--to his secretary before seating himself comfortably in his over-stuffed desk chair.

"Your coffee and mail, sir," said his secretary five minutes later when she brought back the coffee. He took his small pile of letters and set the coffee aside for now. She walked out of the room.

"Junk…bill…bill…junk…fan mail…plea for help…ah!" he said, discarding all envelopes one by one save for the last one, which he slit open and read:

__

Dear Mr. Fudge,

I request permission for an interview with you on the subject of the Department of Mysteries. Perhaps some time today?

Sincerely,

Rita Skeeter

Odd, he thought. She was usually interested in different sorts of topics for her articles. But he agreed all the same.

(The Ministry of Magic. London. Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic's Office. August 16th 1996. 12:04 p.m.)

"Good day, Rita," he said professionally, although the two of them had met before on many occasions. "Take a seat."

Obligingly, she did so and set her handbag on the desk in front of her. Cornelius surveyed her for a moment before discarding his serious expression and saying, "Come now, Rita. We both know that you're here for something, and I have a hunch that it's not the Department of Mysteries."

"Oh," said Rita with an excited grin, snapping open her alligator skin handbag and withdrawing her quill and parchment, "I assure you, Minister, that I am here to discuss the Department of Mysteries."

Fudge looked absolutely befuddled, but regained his composure and straightened in his chair muttering about how the _Daily Prophet _is going downhill these days. "Ask away, then," he said awkwardly.

"I heard there's a new project being worked on by Department officials," she said, as if she were blissfully unaware of the Potters' return. "Would you mind telling me a bit about it?"

'_I knew it_,' he thought to himself, '_there had to be some reason she was interested in the Department of Mysteries_._ She must have heard about the deal I made with Dumbledore_._ Rita certainly has a way of finding things out_.'

"Actually," he said, "it was completed in late June. And I'm afraid that it no longer resides within the Ministry."

Rita lifted her eyebrows, feigning surprise. "And where, may I ask, is it now?"

"So I assume you know what they've been working on," said Fudge bluntly, a slight coolness in his tone.

"I have an idea."

"Would you like me to confirm it?"

"If you must."

He cleared his throat. "For the past year and a half, we've been secretly developing a new type of Time-Turner. It was designed to bear the same resemblance to its predecessor, but it's used in a much different way, and is much more efficient."

"How so, Minister?" she questioned, regaining her polite manner.

"I'm afraid that that information is none of your business," he said coolly, removing his glasses to wipe the lenses.

Rita cocked an eyebrow at him. "I see. Would you mind telling me the circumstances in which the Time-Turner was removed from the Ministry?"

"Indeed I would," he said truthfully. "I know what you're like, Rita," he said, and Rita shifted in her chair, forcing her face to remain impassive, yet aiming for indignance, "and all you'll do is wrench a story from anyone you can and publish it regardless of the affects it has on other people just to make a quick buck."

"I'm sorry you feel this way, Mr. Fudge," she said.

"So am I. Good day, Rita."

Without a word, she repacked her Quick-Quotes Quill and her roll of parchment, snapped her bag shut and marched from the room without a word. Cornelius got up from his chair and shut and locked the door behind her.

"I should never have given that Time-Turner to Albus," he muttered.

And he didn't notice a tiny beetle's head protruding from the crack beneath the door.

(Fourteen fifty-seven Maple Oak Lane. Godric's Hollow. August 18th 1996. 9:14 a.m.)

Three days after his visit to the Burrow, Harry trudged sleepily down the staircase, his hand gripping the railing for support. His mother was sitting on the couch next to his father; they both looked worried. He sat down next to Lily and noticed that there was a _Daily Prophet _laid out on the coffee table in front of them. A picture of himself was on the front cover, along with an older picture; it was his parents. Even though the picture had been scanned in and the whole paper was black and white, it was easy to see that it was flecked with brown age spots. And as in all Wizarding pictures, these were moving. He was scowling and looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else (not to mention looking a little nervous), and his parents were smiling rather nervously indeed while waving uncertainly. A cold feeling trickled down his spine and through his chest, but he picked it up and read anyway. Just the title itself made his nerves skyrocket:

****

Sightings of Lily and James Potter in Little Whinging

__

After a discussion this reporter shared with a person who wishes to remain anonymous, respectively, I have reason to believe that strange occurrences are taking place near the place where the Boy who Lived calls home. My interviewee witnessed him standing outside of his suburban home with two people on August the first. Many of you may wonder why exactly this is significant; it was the company Harry Potter was in that makes this sighting so extraordinary.

"It was a red-haired woman and a black-haired man. She looked a bit like the boy and had nearly the same eyes. The man looked almost exactly the same, except for the shape of his glasses and the color of his eyes," the witness reported. "I believe it was the boy's parents I had seen."

When asked why he thought this way, he said,

"The woman was sobbing and said that the boy had ruined her life," he said, "who else could she be?"

In a more recent interview with the Minister of Magic, evidence to prove the witness's case was discovered.

"For the past year and a half, we've been secretly developing a new type of Time-Turner. It was designed to bear the same resemblance to its predecessor, but it's used in a much different way, and is much more efficient.

"It was completed in late June. And I'm afraid that it no longer resides within the Ministry."

Then he disclosed the last amount of evidence just as I had finished jotting down the conversation,

"I should never have given that Time-Turner to Albus."

Of course he was speaking of Albus Dumbledore, newly re-instated headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Upon the completion of the Time-Turner, a deal was made between our beloved Minister and Dumbledore. Fudge saw it unfit to keep the powerful item within the Ministry after the unfortunate break-in of the Dark Lord and his followers, known as Death Eaters, so he gave it to his long-time friend for safekeeping.

It is believed that that very same Time-Turner was used by no other than Harry Potter himself to save the lives of his parents.

The question that needs to be answered is how the object found its way into Potter's possession in the first place. Did he steal it from his headmaster? Or is Albus Dumbledore guilty? If so, perhaps his sanity is waning as was previously thought when he suggested the return of the Dark Lord.

I believe we have a conspiracy on our hands. More on this subject to come soon.

Harry sat the paper back down on the table and glanced over at his parents.

"Who wrote this rubbish?" he asked them, spitting out the words like a curse.

"Rita Skeeter," said his mother, "her name's there." She pointed to the paper, where Harry could clearly see her name written in fancy script in black ink.

"And who the bloody hell did she interview?" he asked, growing enraged. His parents ignored the swearing. "It would have to have been a wizard. No one else would know who you are. Besides Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon," he added, "though I doubt they'd report it to Rita Skeeter. Terrified of wizards, they are."

"You don't have to tell me that," said Lily, forlornly. "It couldn't have been them anyway. They were asleep when we were in the lawn."

"How do you know that for sure?" asked James. It was the first time Harry had heard him speak all morning. "They could have been biding their time in their rooms, waiting for us to come downstairs."

Lily rolled her eyes. "You read way too much," she tittered. "Besides, my sister could never sit around idly. Especially for an hour."

"An hour?" asked Harry, wrinkling his brow. "Where'd you get an hour from?"

"That's about how long we stayed in your bedroom," she shrugged.

"Well," said Harry, after a long silence, retaking his seat on the couch (in his outrage, he had stood up). "What are we going to do about this?"

(Somewhere in Albania. The Sewer. August 18th 1996. 9:52 a.m.)

A small, fat, brown rat scurried through the winding pipes of a sewer deep underground, his tiny paws pittering and pattering against the cold, smooth stone. This section of the sewer was no longer in use, as there were no neighboring villages, towns, or cities, so it remained dry and virtually odor-free. Several times during the course of his journey, he had met up with some rather formidable creatures that took residence in the sewer. A cockroach had been the first thing he met, which he scattered past at lightning speed due to a fear of them, and that fact that cockroaches are very quick, followed by a tarantula, big and hairy, the site of which nearly made him collapse with anxiety.

The worst of all, however, was a kitten that had somehow found its way to the depths of the sewer. She'd been a frisky little thing and had followed him for quite a while, until he worked up enough courage to bite her leg, after which she mewed in distress and limped away, her cries echoing through the tunnels.

But still he jogged on. Eventually, after he thought he was going to collapse from his trip, he spotted the small opening in the wall that let in a thin, dusty beam of light. His way out. He squeezed his fat self through it and landed in open, forest air.

He looked up at the tall, looming, stone building before him; Maison Serpent. It was here that his master, Lord Voldemort, resided. And he had rather important news for him. A heavy gust of wind that sent the leaves at feet airborne hid the sight of a rat growing taller and taller until he took the form of a squat, fat man with mousy brown hair. His two front teeth protruded from his mouth, which quivered not only from the breeze, but also at the sight of the drafty residence in front of him.

He stepped up to the front door, shakily, and pressed the left eye of the carved serpent upon it. A soft hissing ensued and the door dissolved into nothing, taking form again only after he had passed through. His hand snuck down to his pocket, and a slight crinkling sound told him that his prize was still there. He nearly wet himself with excitement.

"Who's there?" hissed a voice from the shadows. He saw a cloaked figure materialize from the darkness to his left--a hallway he had never gone down--and felt a wave of nervousness sweep through him.

"P-Peter Pettigrew!" he squeaked.

The figure lowered its hood. "What business do you have here?" asked the cold voice of Bellatrix Lestrange, sounding rather condescending and haughty. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared down at him. He blushed under her scrutiny.

"I h-have something f-f-for the Master," he squeaked, patting his pocket again in reassurance that he still had the paper.

She raised a thin eyebrow. "Were you summoned?"

"N-no."

"Then leave. The Master is far too busy to deal with the likes of you, Peter."

Peter's heart sunk. "But it's v-very important!"

Bellatrix seemed surprised at his protests. "Alright," she said, a warning tone in her voice, "but if you don't come back out, you'd better keep your ghostly hands away from me!"

He nodded shakily and walked forward in the direction her gesturing hand indicated. He swung open a tall, wooden door and entered a room he jokingly called the "Diabolical Planning Room." Or 'DPR' for short. The DPR was the largest room in the entire castle; it was easy to see that upon entering. Its cold brick walls stretched nearly 100 feet on either side of the large throne in the center of the back wall in which Lord Voldemort currently sat. There were two dementors in the room, though they were off to the right--Peter's right--guarding the several cages. Most of them had bones from who knew what laying in them, but there was a person in one of them. A red-haired woman Peter had never seen before. She seemed unconscious.

"Are you going to stand there all day?" asked Voldemort, sounding bored. Peter could see the piercing red eyes from the shadow inside of the hood he wore.

"No, M-Master," he confirmed, stepping forward. For once he was glad not to have the critical stares of the Death Eaters upon him as he entered.

"What have you come for?" he asked, sounding uncharacteristically curious. "You never show up anymore."

Peter riffled through his jean pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper. He stepped farther forward, smoothed out the paper, and handed it to his Master. He read in silence and set the paper on fire with the tip of his finger when he finished, allowing the ashes to pool at his feet.

"Do you see that woman over there?" asked Voldemort, indicating the unconscious red-haired woman. Peter nodded.

"Her name is Anna Potter," said the Dark Lord conversationally, rising from his seat and linking his hands behind his back. "and she will be of great use to us."

"How, Master?"

Voldemort cocked an eyebrow. "You don't know who she is?" Peter shook his head.

"She is the mother of James Potter," he explained. "She will know where to find the rest of the Potters."

"How did she get here?"

"How do you think?" asked Voldemort, giving him an odd look. Peter took this question to be rhetorical and kept silent. Voldemort cast a glance over at her cage and the dementors looked at him (their hoods turned in his direction), awaiting orders. "But right now she is unconscious," he said, turning his attention back toward Peter, "and we don't know if we'll be able to get her to speak. That is why I'm sending you on a little mission, Wormtail."

"A-a mission?" Peter squeaked, staring hopefully at his master. He hadn't been on many missions, as they usually ended in failure.

"And," Voldemort added, turning sharply in his direction, "I expect this one to be a success!"

Peter cowered; apparently his master could sense his fear of failing. "It w-will be!" he piped, not sounding too reassuring.

"It better be," he threatened. "Because there is no way that woman will tell us the location of her son's family. We've already searched the Muggles' home. They said that they didn't know where they'd went. This was alright for me, I knew they weren't lying, but it was when they got shirty with me that I had to kill them. Now, be off, Peter!"

"B-but you ha-haven't told me where to go!"

"I want you to go to Godric's Hollow," said Voldemort after a moment's pause. "It's a good chance that they're hiding there. Bring them here once you are through with your little visit. I daresay we'd all like to know how they accomplished this."

"I-Indeed, M-Master."

"Off with you," said Voldemort with a dismissing gesture, "and I'll be sending a search team for you if you're not back in two days. Potters or no Potters."

Peter gulped.

(Fourteen fifty-seven Maple Oak Lane. Godric's Hollow. August 18th 1996. 9:58a.m.)

Harry was upstairs in the room he had comforted Lily in the night of his parents' first real fight. Well, the first real fight _he'd_ seen from them, anyway. It was kind of funny the way they were behaving nowadays; they used the fight as an excuse for all of the snogging they'd been up to lately. Whenever Harry caught them at it, one of them would say, "But, Harry! We're just making up!" "Feh. Making out, more like," he usually retorted with.

He stretched out on the couch. There were a lot of things about this room that he loved; the darkness it was always shrouded in, the bookshelves, the privacy he always got when he was up here, the silence, and the tranquility. It was a very good place to think, which is what he needed to do at the moment.

When he thought of the night he went to the Burrow, he felt a great rush of happiness flow through him. He always loved the Weasleys' get-togethers, but this one was very different; his parents had been there to share it with him. They'd also got a bit of talking done too. Apparently, Mr. And Mrs. Weasley had been friends of the Potters back before their deaths. All of them had chatted animatedly about the Order, Quidditch, and the Ministry for hours.

But the most memorable part of the entire night had not been the dinner, or seeing his best friend, Ron; it had been seeing the person that Snape had brought with him. The extraordinary part hadn't even been _seeing_ him, but seeing him after what had happened.

The person Snape had brought with him was Harry's godfather, Sirius Black. A person that everyone, including himself, thought to be dead. Harry hadn't saved him with the Time-Turner, so how had he come to be in the Weasleys' yard?

That was simple.

But before we get there, Harry must finish with his bit of the story.

And while Harry had been delighted to see Sirius, he was not delighted that his godfather had mixed up his facts. It hadn't been James that had left him that note, it had been he, Harry, who had left it, hidden cleverly on his younger self. He had slipped it under his shirt before descending the stairs.

Of course, it wasn't Sirius's fault he had guessed that James left the note; he had no way of knowing that an older form of Harry was in 1981, or that it was even possible for an older form of Harry to _be_ in 1981.

What made matters more complicated was the fact that Harry neglected to mention to anyone that it had been he who'd left the note. James had denied, truthfully, that he had left it, but Sirius, thinking he was being modest, didn't believe him.

From below, Harry heard the doorbell ring and the sound of shuffling feet as someone went to answer it. He too got up and bounded down the stairs to see who their visitor was. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard mumbled voices and the tinkling sound of his mother's laughter. They had moved into the kitchen.

He crept along the wall silently, avoiding a potted plant, and listened for sounds within.

Sirius's voice could be heard, telling Harry's parents of the first time he'd seen their son on a broomstick. All Harry could make out at first were words such as "great, shaggy dog" and "went all white" before he heard entire sentences,

"I could smell dementors approaching from the right, so I ran off into the forest. When I looked back over my shoulder, I could see a boy tumbling from his broom. It was Harry."

There was silence except for Lily's gasp, and Harry felt himself going a bit red.

"So tell us about the Ministry ordeal at the end of term," said James, sounding slightly nervous.

"Which bit?"

James shrugged. "All of it?"

So for the next fifteen minutes, Harry had to endure the tale of his latest adventure at the Ministry of Magic. Sirius didn't seem to want to leave anything out. It was slightly different from what he had experienced, since Sirius hadn't gone out to the lobby with Bellatrix and him.

"…And she got me right in the chest with a stunner. You should have seen it! It was like one of those things on Muggle TV. Football, I think they call it. Anyway, I nearly lost my balance and went through the arch, but I bumped my head on the side of it, and I only got knocked out."

Harry heard his mother laugh. "Only? Only got knocked out? You say that so casually, Sirius."

He laughed too. "Well, better than falling in, isn't it?"

"What next?" asked James eagerly.

"Well, when I woke up, Moony and the others had the Death Eaters all bound up with jinxes, so there wasn't much left to do but wait for Ministry officials to cart them off to Azkaban. Got out though, most of them did. A couple were…kissed."

"Serves them right," said James bitterly. He changed the subject after a moment of staring nervously at his friend and wife. "But you said Remus saw Harry running after your cousin. What happened?"

"I'm not sure," Sirius admitted. "I think he was trying to avenge me or something."

Even though Harry was sure that his parents would have been very proud and pleased with him for doing so, he still felt his cheeks grow hot. He changed his position. His legs were getting stiff and he wanted breakfast. What was even more irritating was that potted plant; its itchy leaves kept brushing up against his leg.

All of his problems were solved, however, when the doorbell rang again. He walked casually over to the front door, sneaking a glance into the kitchen, where his mother had begun to push her chair out to stand. Sirius looked the same as he had remembered him and he felt a rush of pride at his plan.

Though fear replaced pride when he saw their visitor.

: : :

I should make a movie; "The Cliffies Strike Back"!

It's Howdy Doody Time!

Er…well…sort of. Let's thank the reviewers.

Quinny and COUSIN: She wasn't lying--it's MY cousin! And keep yer damn goose eggs out of my chapter! There will also be no Draco/Harry. You know this. Even though they are two extremely pretty boys, they won't be getting together. -wink-

Piper of Locksley--Alright, I see the point. Sowwie I called you names, Kitty! Am I forgiven? -puppy dog eyes-

XxSacredDreamsxX--You have possibly the most annoying penname I've ever encountered, Nat! And I'm including Becca's in this. (Just kidding!) But there is a lot of caps/un-caps in the name. Anywho, glad we cleared up your confusion. And I'm pleased that you like it!

AmishFreckle--I'm touched. I really, really am. But there's no way you can compare me to J.K.R., as much as I enjoyed the compliment. -big grin-

Megan


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